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JOHN  SKALLY  TERRY 

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JOHN  S.  TERRY 

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SHE    FELL    ON    HER    KNEES    BEFORE    HER    UNCLE    COULD    PREVENT 
HER,    TOOK    HIS    HAND,    AND    KISSED    IT.       P.    155. 


LIGHT  O'  THE 
MORNING 

The    Story  of  an    Irish    Girl 


BY 

L.  T.  MEADE 

AUTHOR    OF    "  THE   GIRLS  OF    ST.    WODE's,"    "  WILD    KITTY, 

"CHILDREN    OF   WILTON    CHASE,"    "GIRLS    NEW 

AND    OLD,"    "  BETTY,"    ETC. 


THE  MERSHON  COMPANY 
RAHWAY,    N.    J.  NEW    YORK 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://www.archive.org/details/lightomorningstoOOmead 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

FAGE 

I. 

Nora, i 

II. 

"  Some  More  of  the  Land  Must  Go,' 

7 

III. 

The  Wild  Murphys, 

•           13 

IV. 

The  Invitation, 

22 

V. 

"I  Am  Ashamed  of  You,"     . 

•         30 

VI. 

The  Cave  of  the  Banshee, 

.       37 

VII. 

The  Murphys, 

.       51 

VIII. 

The  Squire's  Trouble, 

.       58 

IX. 

Education  and  Other  Things, 

.       66 

X. 

The  Invitation, 

•       75 

XI. 

The  Diamond  Cross, 

.       87 

XII. 

A  Feather-bed  House,    . 

.     103 

XIII. 

"There's  Molly,"           .    ■     . 

109 

XIV. 

Bits  of  Slang, 

115 

XV. 

Two  Letters, 

.     127 

XVI. 

A  Cheeky  Irish  Girl,     . 

.     136 

XVII. 

Two  Descriptions, 

144 

XVIII. 

A  Compact,       .... 

150 

XIX. 

"She  Will  Soon  Tame  Down,** 

.     156 

XX. 

Stephanotie,     .... 

162 

XXI. 

The  Rose-colored  Dress, 

175 

XXII. 

Letters,            

184 

XXIII. 

The  Box  of  Bon-bons,    .        .        , 

194 

XXIV. 

The  Telegram,        .... 

199 

XXV. 

The  Blow, 

204 

XXVI. 

Ten  Pounds, 

210 

iii 

599135 

IV 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXVII. 

Adventures— and  Home  Again,    ....    223 

XXVIII. 

The  Wild  Irish, 

.    231 

XXIX. 

Alterations,    .... 

.    240 

XXX. 

The  Lion  in  His  Cage, 

.    248 

XXXI. 

Release  of  the  Captive, 

.     258 

XXXII. 

Andy 

.    265 

XXXIII. 

The  Cabin  on  the  Mountain, 

.     273 

XXXIV. 

A  Daring  Deed, 

.    284 

XXXV. 

The  Cot  where  He  Was  Born,  . 

.     294 

XXXVI. 

"  I'm  a  Happy  Man,"     . 

.    306 

LIGHT  O'  THE  MORNING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NORA. 

"Why,  then,  Miss  Nora " 

"Yes,  Hannah?" 

"  You  didn't  see  the  masther  going  this  way,  miss  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Hannah  ?  Father  is  never  at 
home  at  this  hour." 

"  I  thought  maybe "  said  Hannah.     She  spoke  in 

a  dubious  voice,  backing  a  little  away. 

Hannah  was  a  small,  squat  woman,  of  a  truly  Irish 
type.  Her  nose  was  celestial,  her  mouth  wide,  her  eyes 
dark,  and  sparkling  with  fun.  She  was  dressed  in  a  short, 
coarse  serge  petticoat,  with  what  is  called  a  bedgown 
over  it;  the  bedgown  was  made  of  striped  calico,  yellow 
and  red,  and  was  tied  in  at  the  waist  with  a  broad  band  of 
the  same.  Hannah's  hair  was  strongly  inclined  to  gray, 
and  her  humorous  face  was  covered  with  a  perfect  net- 
work of  wrinkles.  She  showed  a  gleam  of  snowy  teeth 
now,  as  she  looked  full  at  the  young  girl  whom  she  was 
addressing. 

"  Ah,  then,  Miss  Nora,"  she  said,  "  it's  I  that  am  sorry 
for  yez." 

Before  Nora  O'Shanaghgan  could  utter  a  word  Han- 
nah had  turned  on  her  heel. 

"  Come  back,  Hannah,"  said  Nora  in  an  imperious 
voice. 


2  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Presently,  darlint ;  it's  the  childer  I  hear  calling  me. 
Coming,  Mike  asthore,  coming." 

The  squat  little  figure  flew  down  a  side  walk  which 
led  to  a  paddock;  beyond  the  paddock  was  a  turnstile, 
and  at  the  farther  end  of  an  adjacent  field  a  cabin  made 
of  mud,  with  one  tiny  window  and  a  thatched  roof.  Han- 
nah was  making  for  the  cabin  with  rapid,  waddling 
strides.  Nora  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  broad  sweep 
which  led  up  to  the  front  door  of  the  old  house. 

Castle  O'Shanaghgan  was  a  typical  Irish  home  of  the 
ancient  regime.  The  house,  a  great  square  pile,  was 
roomy  and  spacious ;  it  had  innumerable  staircases,  and 
long  passages  through  which  the  wind  shrieked  on  stormy 
nights,  and  a  great  castellated  tower  at  its  north  end.  This 
tower  was  in  ruins,  and  had  been  given  up  a  long  time 
ago  to  the  exclusive  tenancy  of  the  bats,  the  owls,  and 
rats  so  large  and  fierce  that  the  very  dogs  were  afraid  of 
them.  In  the  tower  at  night  the  neighbors  affirmed  that 
they  heard  shrieks  and  ghostly  noises;  and  Nora,  whose 
bedroom  was  nearest  to  it,  rejoiced  much  in  the  distinc- 
tion of  having  twice  heard  the  O'Shanaghgan  Banshee 
keening  outside  her  window.  Nora  was  a  slender,  tall, 
and  very  graceful  girl  of  about  seventeen,  and  her  face 
was  as  typical  of  the  true,  somewhat  wild,  Irish  beauty 
as  Hannah  Croneen's  was  the  reverse. 

In  the  southwest  of  Ireland  there  are  traces  of  Span- 
ish as  well  as  Celtic  blood  in  many  of  its  women ;  and 
Nora's  quantities  of  thick,  soft,  intensely  black  hair  must 
have  come  to  her  from  a  Spanish  ancestor.  So  also  did 
the  delicately  marked  black  brows  and  the  black  lashes  to 
her  dark  and  very  lovely  blue  eyes ;  but  the  clear  complex- 
ion, the  cheeks  with  the  tenderest  bloom  on  them,  the 
softly  dimpled  lips  red  as  coral,  and  the  little  teeth  white 
as  pearls  were  true  Irish  characteristics. 


NORA.  3 

Nora  waited  for  a  moment  after  Hannah  had  left  her, 
then,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  westerly  sun  by  one 
hand,  she  turned  slowly  and  went  into  the  house. 

"Where  is  mother,  Pegeen?"  she  said  to  a  rough- 
looking,  somewhat  slatternly  servant  who  was  crossing 
the  hall. 

"  In  the  north  parlor,  Miss  Nora." 

"  Come  along,  then,  Creena ;  come  along,  Cushla,"  said 
the  girl,  addressing  two  handsome  black  Pomeranians 
who  rushed  to  meet  her.  The  dogs  leaped  up  at  her  with 
expressions  of  rapture,  and  girl  and  dogs  careered  with 
a  wild  dance  across  the  great,  broad  hall  in  the  direction, 
of  the  north  parlor.  Nora  opened  the  door  with  a  some- 
what noisy  bang,  the  dogs  precipitated  themselves  into 
the  room,  and  she  followed. 

"  Ah,  then,  mother  dear !  and  have  I  disturbed  you  ?  " 
she  said. 

A  pale-faced  lady,  who  was  lying  full-length  on  a  very 
old  and  hard  sofa,  rose  with  a  querulous  expression  on 
her  face  when  Nora  entered. 

"  I  wish  someone  would  teach  you  thoughtfulness," 
she  said ;  "  you  are  the  most  tiresome  girl  in  the  world, 
I  have  been  two  hours  trying  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep,  and 
just  when  I  succeed  you  come  in  and  wake  me." 

"  It's  sorry  I  am  to  my  heart's  core,"  said  Nora.  She 
went  up  to  her  mother,  dropped  on  one  knee,  and  looked 
with  her  rosy  face  into  the  worn  and  faded  one  of  the 
elder  woman.  "  Here  I  am,  mammy,"  she  said  again, 
"  your  own  little  Nora ;  let  me  sit  with  you  a  bit — 
may  I?" 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  smiled  faintly.  She  looked  all 
over  the  girl's  slim  figure,  and  finally  her  eyes  rested  on 
the  laughing,  lovely  face.  Then  a  cloud  crossed  her  fore- 
head, and  her  eyes  became  dim  with  tears. 


4  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  last  thing,  Nora  ?  " 

"  There  are  so  many  last  things,  mother,"  said 
Nora. 

"  But  the  very  last.  Your  father  has  to  pay  back  the 
money  which  Squire  Murphy  of  Cronane  lent  him.  It  is 
the  queerest  thing;  but  the  mortgagee  means  to  fore- 
close, as  he  calls  it,  within  three  months  if  that  money  is 
not  paid  in  full.     I  know  well  what  it  means." 

Nora  smiled.  She  took  her  mother's  hand  in  hers,  and 
began  to  stroke  it  gently. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  it  means  this.  It  means  that 
we  must  part  with  a  little  more  of  the  beloved  land,  every 
sod  of  which  I  love.  We  certainly  do  seem  to  be  getting 
poorer  and  poorer;  but  never  mind — nothing  will  ever 
alter  the  fact  that " 

"That  what,  child?" 

"  That  we  O'Shanaghgans  are  the  proudest  and  oldest 
family  in  the  county,  and  that  there  is  scarcely  an  Eng- 
lishman across  the  water  who  would  not  give  all  he  pos- 
sesses to  change  places  with  us." 

"  You  talk  like  a  silly  child,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan ; 
"  and  please  remember  that  I  am  English." 

"  Oh,  mummy,  I  am  so  sorry !  "  said  the  girl.  She  laid 
her  soft  head  down  on  the  sofa,  pressing  it  against  her 
mother's  shoulder. 

"  I  cannot  think  of  you  as  English,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  lived  here  all,  all  my  life.  You  belong  to  father,  and 
you  belong  to  Terence  and  me — what  have  you  to  do  with 
the  cold  English  ?  " 

"  I  remember  a  time,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  "  when 
I  thought  Ireland  the  most  desolate  and  God-forsaken 
place  on  the  earth.  It  is  true  I  have  become  accustomed 
to  it  now.  But,  Nora,  if  you  only  could  realize  what  my 
old  home  was  reallv  like." 


NORA.  5 

"  I  don't  want  to  realize  any  home  different  from  this," 
said  the  girl,  a  cloud  shading  her  bright  eyes  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

"  You  are  silly  and  prejudiced,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanagh- 
gan.  "  It  is  a  great  trial  to  me  to  have  a  daughter  so  un- 
sympathetic." 

"  Oh,  mummy !  I  don't  mean  to  be  unsympathetic. 
There  now,  we  are  quite  cozy  together.  Tell  me  one  of 
the  old  stories ;  I  do  so  love  to  listen." 

The  frown  cleared  from  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan's  fore- 
head, and  the  peevish  lines  went  out  of  her  face.  She  be- 
gan to  talk  with  animation  and  excitement.  Nora  knew 
exactly  what  she  was  going  to  say.  She  had  heard  the 
story  so  often;  but,  although  she  had  heard  it  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  times,  she  was  never  tired  of  listening 
to  the  history  of  a  trim  life  of  which  she  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  The  orderly,  well-dressed  servants,  the  punctual 
meals,  the  good  and  abundant  food,  the  nice  dresses,  the 
parties,  the  solid  education,  the  discipline  so  foreign  to 
her  own  existence,  all — all  held  their  proper  fascination. 
But  although  she  listened  with  delight  to  these  stories  of  a 
bygone  time,  she  never  envied  her  mother  those  periods 
of  prosperity.  Such  a  life  would  have  been  a  prison  to 
her ;  so  she  thought,  although  she  never  spoke  her  thought 
aloud. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  began  the  old  tale  to-night,  telling 
it  with  a  little  more  verve  even  than  usual.  She  ended  at 
last  with  a  sigh. 

"  Oh,  the  beautiful  old  times !  "  she  said. 

"  But  you  didn't  know  father  then,"  answered  Nora,  a 
frown  coming  to  her  brows,  and  an  angry  feeling  for  a 
moment  visiting  her  warm  heart.  "  You  didn't  have 
father,  nor  Nora,  nor  Terry." 

"  Of  course  not,  darling,  and  you  make  up  for  much ; 


6  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

but,  Nora  dear,  although  I  love  my  husband  and  my  chil- 
dren, I  hate  this  country.    I  hate  it !  " 

"  Don't,  mother,"  said  Nora,  with  a  look  of  pain.  She 
started  to  her  feet.  At  that  moment  loud,  strong  steps 
were  heard  in  the  hall ;  a  hearty  voice  exclaimed : 

"Where's  Light  o'  the  Morning?  Where  have  you 
hidden  yourself,  witch  ?  " 

"  It's  father,"  said  Nora.  She  said  the  words  with  a 
sort  of  gasp  of  rejoicing,  and  the  next  moment  had  dashed 
out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  SOME   MORE   OF   THE   LAND    MUST    GO." 

Squire  O'Shanaghgan  was  a  tall,  powerfully  built 
man,  with  deep-set  eyes  and  rugged,  overhanging  brows  ; 
his  hair  was  of  a  grizzled  gray,  very  thick  and  abundant ; 
he  had  a  shaggy  beard,  too,  and  a  long  overhanging  mus- 
tache. He  entered  the  north  parlor  still  more  noisily 
than  Nora  had  done.  The  dogs  yelped  with  delight,  and 
flung  themselves  upon  him. 

"  Down,  Creena  !  down,  Cushla !  "  he  said.  "  Ah,  then, 
Nora,  they  are  as  bewitching  as  yourself,  little  woman. 
What  beauties  they  are  growing,  to  be  sure !  " 

"  I  reared  them,"  said  Nora.  "  I  am  proud  of  them 
both.  At  one  time  I  thought  Creena  could  not  live ;  but 
look  at  her  now — her  coat  as  black  as  jet,  and  so  silky." 

"Shut  the  door,  won't  you,  Patrick?"  said  his  wife. 

"  Bless  me !  I  forgot,"  said  the  Squire.  He  crossed  the 
room,  and,  with  an  effort  after  quietness,  closed  the  door 
with  one  foot ;  then  he  seated  himself  by  his  wife's  side. 

"  Better,  Eileen?  "  he  said,  looking  at  her  anxiously. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  Eileen,"  she  said.  "  I 
hate  to  have  my  name  Irishized." 

The  Squire's  eyes  filled  with  suppressed  fun. 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  half-Irish,  whether  you  like  it  or 
not,"  he  said.  "Is  not  she,  colleen?  Bless  me,  what  a 
day  it  has  turned  out !  We  are  getting  summer  weather 
at  last.  What  do  you  say  to  going  for  a  drive,  Eileen — 
Ellen,  I  mean  ?     Black  Bess  is  eating  her  head  off  in  the 


8  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

stables.  I  want  to  go  as  far  as  Murphy's  place,  and  you 
might  as  well  come  with  me." 

"  And  I  too?"  said  Nora. 

"  To  be  sure,  child.  Why  not  ?  You  run  round  to  the 
stables,  Norrie,  and  give  the  order." 

Nora  instantly  left  the  room,  the  dogs  following  her. 

"  What  ails  her?  "  said  the  Squire,  looking  at  his  wife. 

"  Ails  her,  Pat?    Nothing  that  I  know  of." 

"  Then  you  know  very  little,"  was  his  answer.  "  I 
never  see  that  sort  of  anxious  frown  between  the  colleen's 
brows  without  knowing  there's  mischief  in  the  wind. 
Somebody  has  been  worrying  her,  and  I  won't  have  it." 
He  put  down  his  great  hand  with  a  thump  on  the  near- 
est table. 

"  Don't,  Pat.     You  quite  shatter  my  nerves." 

"  Bless  you  and  your  nerves,  Ellen.  I  want  to  give 
them  all  possible  consideration;  but  I  won't  have  Light 
o'  the  Morning  worried." 

"  You'll  spoil  that  girl ;  you'll  rue  it  yet." 

"Bless  her  heart!  I  couldn't  spoil  her;  she's  unspoil- 
able.  Did  you  ever  see  a  sweeter  bit  of  a  thing,  sound 
to  the  core,  through  and  through?  " 

"  Sweet  or  not,"  said  the  mother,  "  she' has  got  to  learn 
her  lesson  of  life ;  and  it  is  no  good  to  be  too  tender  with 
her ;  she  wants  a  little  bracing." 

"  You  have  been  trying  that  on — eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly,  Pat ;  but  you  cannot  expect  me  to 
keep  all  our  troubles  to  ourselves.  There's  that  mort- 
gage, you  know." 

"  Bother  the  mortgage !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  Why  do 
you  harp  on  things  the  way  you  do?  Til  manage  it 
right  enough.  I  am  going  round  to  see  Dan  Murphy 
now ;  he  won't  be  hard  on  an  old  friend." 

"  Yes ;  but  have  you  not  to  pay  up  ?  " 


'SOME  MORE   OF   THE  LAND  MUST  GO."  9 

"  Some  day,  I  suppose." 

"  Now  listen,  Patrick.  Do  be  reasonable.  When- 
ever I  speak  of  money  you  fight  shy  of  the  subject." 

"  I  don't — I  don't,"  said  the  Squire  restlessly ;  "  but  I 
am,  dead  tired.  I  have  had  a  ride  of  thirty  miles ;  I  want 
my  tea.  Where  is  Nora  ?  Do  you  mind  my  calling  her  ? 
She'll  order  Pegeen  to  bring  the  tea  here." 

"  No ;  I  won't  have  it.  We'll  have  tea  in  the  dining 
room  presently.  I  thought  you  objected  to  afternoon 
tea." 

"  So  I  do,  as  a  rule ;  but  I  am  mighty  dhry — thirsty,  I 
mean,  Ellen.  Well,  all  the  better ;  I'll  get  more  to 
drink  in  the  dining  room.  Order  the  tea  as  soon  as  you 
please." 

"  Ring  the  bell,  Patrick." 

The  Squire  strode  to  the  mantelpiece,  pulled  a  bell- 
cord  which  hung  from  the  ceiling,  a  distant  bell  was 
heard  ringing  in  noisy  fashion,  and  a  moment  afterward 
Pegeen  put  in  her  head. 

"  Come  right  in,  Margaret,"  said  her  mistress. 

"  Aw !  then,  I'm  sorry,  ma'am,  I  forgot,"  said  the  girl. 
She  came  in,  hiding  hiding  both  her  hands  under  her 
apron. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  uttered  an  impatient  sigh. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  train  these  creatures,"  she  said  un- 
der her  breath.  Aloud,  she  gave  her  order  in  quiet,  im- 
passive tones : 

"  Tea  as  soon  as  possible  in  the  west  parlor,  and  sound 
the  gong  when  it  is  ready." 

"  Why,  then,  wasn't  I  getting  it?  "  said  Pegeen.  She 
left  the  room,  leaving  the  door  wide  open. 

"  Just  like  them,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan.  "  When 
you  want  the  door  open  they  invariably  shut  it,  and  when 
you  want  it  shut  they  leave  it  open." 


10  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  They  do  that  in  England  too,  as  far  as  I  can  tell," 
said  the  Squire,  with  a  slightly  nettled  tone  in  his 
voice. 

"  Well,  now,  Patrick,  while  we  have  a  few  moments 
to  ourselves,  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do  about 
that  ten  thousand  pounds  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  Ellen,  it  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  You  will  have  to  pay  it,  you  know." 

"  I  suppose  so,  some  day.  I'll  speak  to  Dan  to-night. 
He  is  the  last  man  to  be  hard  on  a  chap." 

"  Some  more  of  the  land  must  go,"  said  the  wife  in  a 
fretful  tone.  "  Our  rent-roll  will  be  still  smaller.  There 
will  be  still  less  money  to  educate  Terence.  I  had  set  my 
heart  on  his  going  to  Cambridge  or  Oxford.  You  quite 
forget  that  he  is  eighteen  now." 

"  Cambridge  or  Oxford !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  My  son  shall  either  go  to  Old  Trinity  or  he  does 
without  a  university  education.  Cambridge  or  Oxford 
indeed !  You  forget,  Ellen,  that  the  lad  is  my  son  as 
well  as  yours." 

"  I  don't ;  but  he  is  half  an  Englishman,  three  parts  an 
Englishman,  whatever  his  fatherhood,"  said  the  Squire's 
wife  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 

"  Well,  well !  he  is  Terence  O'Shanaghgan,  for  all  that, 
and  he  will  inherit  this  old  place  some  day." 

"  Much  there  will  be  for  him  to  inherit." 

Eager  steps  were  heard  on  the  gravel,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Nora  entered  by  the  open  window. 

"  I  have  given  the  order,"  she  said ;  "  Angus  will  have 
the  trap  round  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  That's  right,  my  girl ;  you  didn't  let  time  drag,"  said 
her  father. 

"  Angus  wants  you  and  mother  to  be  quite  ready,  for 
he  says  Black  Bess  is  nearly  off  her  head  with  spirit. 


"SOME  MORE  OF   THE  LAND  MUST  GO.*  « 

Now,  then,  mother,  shall  I  go  upstairs  and  bring  down 
your  things  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  if  you  do,  Nora ;  my  back  aches  a  good 
bit." 

"  We'll  put  the  air-cushion  in  the  trap,"  said  the  Squire, 
who,  notwithstanding  her  fine-lady  airs,  had  a  great  re- 
spect and  admiration  for  his  wife.  "  We'll  make  you 
right  cozy,  Ellen,  and  a  rattle  through  the  air  will  do  you 
a  sight  of  good." 

"May  I  drive,  father?"  said  Nora. 

"  You,  little  one  ?  Suppose  you  bring  Black  Bess  down 
on  her  knees?  That  horse  is  worth  three  hundred 
pounds,  if  she's  worth  a  penny." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would?  "  said  the  girl  reproachfully. 
"  Now,  dad,  that  is  about  the  crudest  word  you  have 
said  to  your  Nora  for  many  a  day." 

"  Come  and  give  me  a  hug,  colleen,"  said  the  Squire. 

Nora  ran  to  him,  clasped  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
kissed  him  once  or  twice.  He  had  moved  away  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  and  now  he  looked  her  full  in  the 
face. 

"You  are  fretting  about  something?" 

"  Not  I — not  I,"  said  the  girl ;  but  she  flushed. 

"  Listen  to  me,  colleen,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  if  it  is  that 
bit  of  a  mortgage,  you  get  it  right  out  of  your  head.  It's 
not  going  to  worry  me.  I  am  going  this  very  evening  to 
have  a  talk  with  Dan." 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  Dan  Murphy  you  owe  it  to,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  Ah,  he's  all  right ;  he's  the  right  sort ;  a  chip  of  the 
old  block — eh?  He  wouldn't  be  hard  on  a  brother  in 
adversity  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  if  he  could  help  it,"  said  Nora ;  but  the 
cloud  had  not  left  her  sensitive  face.     Then,  seeing  that 


12  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

her  father  looked  at  her  with  intense  anxiety,  she  made  a 
valiant  effort. 

"  Of  course,  I  believe  in  you,"  she  said ;  "  and,  indeed, 
what  does  the  loss  of  money  matter  while  we  are  to- 
gether?" 

"  Right  you  are !  right  you  are !  "  said  the  Squire,  with 
a  laugh.  He  clapped  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  Trust 
Light  o'  the  Morning  to  look  at  things  in  the  right  direc- 
tion," he  said. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    WILD    MURPHYS. 

Terence  made  his  appearance  at  the  tea  table.  In 
every  respect  he  was  a  contrast  to  Nora.  He  was  very 
good-looking — strikingly  handsome,  in  fact;  tall,  with  a 
graceful  elegance  of  deportment  which  was  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  burly  figure  of  the  old  Squire.  His  face 
was  of  a  nut-brown  hue;  his  eyes  dark  and  piercing;  his 
features  straight.  Young  as  he  was,  there  were  the  first 
indications  of  a  black  silky  mustache  on  his  short  upper 
lip,  and  his  clustering  black  curls  grew  in  a  high  ridge 
off  a  lofty  brow.  Terence  had  the  somewhat  languid  air 
which  more  or  less  characterized  all  his  mother's  move- 
ments. He  was  devoted  to  her,  and  took  his  seat  now 
by  her  side.  She  laid  her  very  thin  and  slender  hand  on 
his  arm.  He  did  not  respond  by  look  or  movement  to  the 
gesture  of  affection;  but  had  a  very  close  observer  been 
present  he  would  have  noticed  that  he  drew  his  chair 
about  the  tenth  of  an  inch  nearer  to  hers. 

Nora  and  her  father  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  were 
chattering  volubly.  Nora's  face  was  all  smiles ;  every 
vestige  of  that  little  cloud  which  had  sat  between  her 
dark  brows  a  few  moments  before  had  vanished.  Her 
blue  eyes  were  sparkling  with  fun. 

The  Squire  made  brilliant  sally  after  sally,  to  which  she 
responded  with  all  an  Irish  girl's  aptitude  for  repartee. 

Terence  and  his  mother  conversed  in  low  tones. 


14  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  was  saying,  "  I  had  a  letter  from 
Uncle  George  this  morning;  he  wants  me  to  go  next 
week.     Do  you  think  you  can  manage  ?  " 

"  How  long  will  you  be  away,  Terence  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  a  couple  of  months,  perhaps." 

"  How  much  money  will  it  cost  ?  " 

"  I  shall  want  an  evening  suit,  and  a  new  dress-suit, 
and  something  for  everyday.  These  things  are  disgrace- 
ful," said  the  lad,  just  glancing  at  the  frayed  coat-sleeve, 
beneath  which  showed  a  linen  cuff  of  immaculate  white- 
ness. 

Terence  was  always  the  personification  of  fastidious- 
ness in  his  dress,  and  for  this  trait  in  his  character  alone 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  adored  him. 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  she  said — "  somehow." 

"  Well,  I  must  reply  to-night,"  he  continued.  "  Shall 
I  ask  the  governor,  or  will  you?  " 

"  We  won't  worry  him,  Terry ;  I  can  manage." 

He  looked  at  her  a  little  anxiously. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  sell  any  more  of  them  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  There  is  a  gold  chain  and  that  diamond  ring ;  I  never 
wear  either.  I  would  fifty  times  rather  think  that  you 
were  enjoying  yourself  with  my  relations  in  England. 
You  are  fitted  to  grace  any  society.  Do  not  say  another 
word,  my  boy." 

"  You  are  the  very  best  and  noblest  mother  in  the 
world,"  said  the  lad  with  enthusiasm. 

Meanwhile,  Nora  and  her  father  continued  their  gay 
conversation. 

"  We  will  take  a  basket  with  us,"  said  Nora,  "  and 
Bridget  shall  give  me  a  couple  of  dozen  more  of  those 
little  brown  eggs.  Mrs.  Perch  shall  have  a  brood  of 
chicks  if  I  can  manage  it." 


THE    WILD  MURPHY S,  15 

"  Trust  the  girleen  for  that,"  said  the  Squire,  and  then 
they  rose  from  table. 

"  Ellen,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  wife,  "  have  you 
and  Terence  done  colloguing  together?  for  I  hear  Black 
Bess  coming  to  the  front  door." 

"  Oh,  hasten,  mother ;  hasten !  "  said  Nora.  "  The 
mare  won't  stand  waiting;  she  is  so  fresh  she  is  just  ready 
to  fly." 

The  next  few  moments  witnessed  a  scene  of  consider- 
able bustle.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  with  all  her  English 
nerves,  had  plenty  of  pluck,  and  would  scorn  to  show 
even  a  vestige  of  fear  before  the  hangers-on,  as  she  called 
the  numerous  ragged  urchins  who  appeared  from  every 
quarter  on  each  imaginable  occasion.  Although  she  was 
shaking  from  head  to  foot  with  absolute  terror  at  the 
thought  of  a  drive  behind  Black  Bess,  she  stepped  into  her 
seat  in  the  tall  dog-cart  without  a  remark.  The  mare 
fidgeted  and  half  reared. 

"  Whoa !  whoa !  Black  Bess,  my  beauty !  "  said  the 
Squire.  The  groom,  a  bright-faced  lad,  with  a  wisp  of 
yellow  hair  falling  over  his  forehead,  held  firmly  to  the 
reins.     Nora  jumped  up  beside  her  mother. 

"  Are  you  going  to  drive  ?  "  asked  that  lady. 

"  Yes,  mummy ;  you  know  I  can.  Whoa,  Black  Bess  ! 
it's  me,"  said  the  girl.  She  took  the  reins  in  her  capable 
little  hands ;  the  Squire  sprang  up  behind,  and  Black  Bess 
flew  down  the  avenue  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  gave  one  hurried  pant  of  sup- 
pressed anguish,  and  then  sat  perfectly  still,  her  lips  set, 
her  hands  tightly  locked  together.  She  endured  these 
drives  almost  daily,  but  had  never  yet  got  accustomed  to 
them.  Nora,  on  the  contrary,  as  they  spun  through  the 
air,  felt  her  spirits  rising;  the  hot  young  blood  coursed 
through  her  veins,  and  her  eyes  blamed  with  fun  and  hap- 


1 6  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

piness.  She  looked  back  at  her  father,  who  nodded  to 
her  briefly. 

"  That's  it,  Nora ;  keep  her  well  in.  Now  that  we  are 
going  uphill  you  can  give  her  her  head  a  bit.  Whoa, 
Black  Bess  !     Whoa  !  " 

The  mare,  after  her  first  wild  canter,  settled  into  a  more 
jog-trot  gait,  and  the  dog-cart  did  not  sway  so  violently 
from  side  to  side.  They  were  soon  careering  along  a 
wide,  well-made  road,  which  ran  for  many  miles  along 
the  top  of  some  high  cliffs.  Below  them,  at  their  feet, 
the  wild  Atlantic  waves  curled  and  burst  in  innumerable 
fountains  of  spray;  the  roar  of  the  waves  came  up  to 
their  ears,  and  the  breath  of  the  salt  breeze,  the  freshest 
and  most  invigorating  in  the  world,  fanned  their  cheeks. 
Even  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  felt  her  heart  beating  less 
wildly,  and  ventured  to  put  a  question  or  two  to  Nora 
with  regard  to  the  clucking  hen,  Mrs.  Perch. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  the  basket,  mammy,"  said  the 
girl ;  "  and  Hannah  will  put  the  eggs  under  the  hen  to- 
night." 

"  I  am  quite  certain  that  Hannah  mismanaged  the  last 
brood,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan ;  "  but  everything  goes 
wrong  at  the  Castle  just  now." 

"  Oh,  mother,  hush !  he  will  hear,"  said  Nora. 

"  It  is  just  like  you,  Nora;  you  wish  to  keep " 

"  Oh,  come,  now,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  I  hear  the  grum- 
bles beginning.  No  grumbles  when  we  are  having  our 
ride — eh,  Ellen  ?  I  want  you  to  come  back  with  a  hearty 
appetite  for  dinner,  and  a  hearty  inclination  to  sleep  to- 
night." 

They  drove  faster  and  faster.  Occasionally  Nora 
touched  the  mare  the  faintest  little  flick  with  the  end  of 
her  long  whip.  The  creature  responded  to  her  touch  as 
though  girl  and  horse  were  one. 


THE    WILD  MURPHYS.  17 

At  last  they  drew  up  outside  a  dilapidated  gate,  one 
hinge  of  which  was  off.  The  Squire  jumped  down  from 
his  seat,  came  round,  and  held  the  horse's  head. 

"  Whoa !  whoa !  "  he  said.  "  Hullo,  you,  Mike !  Why 
aren't  you  in  your  place?  Come  and  open  the  gate  this 
minute,  lad." 

A  small  boy,  with  bare  feet  and  ragged  trousers,  came 
hurrying,  head  over  heels,  down  the  road.  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan  shuddered  and  shut  her  eyes.  The  gate 
was  swung  open.  Nora  led  the  mare  skillfully  round  a 
somewhat  sharp  corner,  and  the  next  instant  they  were 
dashing  with  headlong  speed  up  a  steep  avenue.  It  was 
neglected ;  weeds  grew  all  over  it,  and  the  adjacent  mead- 
ows were  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  avenue  itself. 

The  Squire  ran  after  the  dog-cart,  and  leaped  up  while 
the  mare  was  going  at  full  speed. 

"  Well  done,  father !  "  called  back  Nora. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  "  thought  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan, 
who  still  sat  speechless,  and  as  if  made  of  iron. 

At  last  they  reached  a  long,  rambling  old  house,  with 
many  small  windows,  interspersed  with  a  few  of  enor- 
mous dimensions.  These  were  called  parliament  win- 
dows, and  had  been  put  into  many  houses  of  that  period 
in  order  to  avoid  the  window-tax.  Most  of  the  windows 
were  open,  and  out  of  some  of  them  ragged  towels  were 
drying  in  the  evening  breeze.  About  half  a  dozen  dogs, 
most  of  which  were  of  mongrel  breed,  rushed  forward  at 
the  sound  of  the  wheels,  barking  vociferously.  Nora, 
with  a  dexterous  touch  of  her  hand,  drew  the  mare  up 
just  in  front  of  the  mansion,  and  then  sprang  lightly  to 
her  feet. 

"  Now,  mother,  shall  I  help  you  down  ?  " 

"  You  had  better  find  out  first  if  Mrs.  Murphy  is  in/' 
said  the  Squire's  wife. 


1 8  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

A  ragged  urchin,  such  as  seemed  to  abound  like  mush- 
rooms in  the  place,  came  and  held  the  reins  close  to  the 
horse's  mouth.  The  creature  stood  trembling  from  the 
violence  of  her  exertions,  and  pouring  down  moisture  at 
every  pore.  "  She  wants  to  be  well  rubbed  down,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  She  doesn't  get  half  exercise  enough ;  this 
will  never  do.  What  if  I  have  to  make  money  on  her, 
and  she  is  spoiled  ?  " 

The  low  words  which  came  to  his  lips  were  not  heard 
by  anyone ;  there  was  a  frown,  very  like  Nora's  own,  be- 
tween his  brows.  The  next  moment  a  small  man,  with 
reddish  hair,  in  a  very  shabby  suit  of  half-worn  tweed, 
appeared  on  the  steps  of  the  front  door. 

"Hullo,  O'Shanaghgan,  is  that  yourself?"  he  called 
out.  "  How  are  you,  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan?  Right  glad 
to  see  you.  You'll  rtep  inside — won't  you?  I  believe 
the  wife  is  somewher  .  round.  Neil,  my  man,  go  and  look 
for  the  missus.  Tell  her  that  Madam  O'Shanaghgan  is 
here,  and  the  Squire.  Well,  Nora,  I  suppose  you  are 
wanting  a  chat  with  Bridget?  You  won't  find  her  in- 
doors this  fine  evening." 

"  Where  is  she,  Mr.  Murphy?  "  asked  the  girl.  "  I  do 
want  to  have  a  talk  with  her." 

"  Ah !  what's  the  basket  for  ?  " 

"  I  want  her  to  give  me  some  of  the  pretty  brown 
eggs." 

"  Well,  go  right  down  there  by  the  sea-path,  and  you'll 
find  her,  as  likely  as  not." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Nora.  Slinging  her  basket  on 
her  arm,  she  started  for  her  walk.  As  soon  as  she  was 
out  of  sight  she  began  to  run.  Presently  she  stopped  and 
began  whistling  "  The  Wearing  of  the  Green,"  which  was 
responded  to  in  a  moment  by  another  voice,  sweet  as  that 
of  a  blackbird.     She  looked  to  right  and  left,  and  pres- 


THE    WILD  MURPHYS.  19 

ently  saw  a  pair  of  laughing  black  eyes  looking  down  at 
her  from  beneath  the  shelter  of  a  huge  oak  tree. 

"  Here  I  am.  Will  you  climb  up?  "  said  the  voice  of 
Bridget  Murphy. 

"  Give  me  a  hand,  and  I'll  be  up  with  you  in  a  mo- 
ment," said  Nora.  She  tossed  her  basket  on  the  ground ; 
a  very  firm,  little  brown  hand  was  extended ;  and  the 
next  moment  the  girls  were  seated  side  by  side  on  a  stout 
branch  of  the  tree. 

''Well,  and  what  has  brought  you  along  here?"  said 
Bridget. 

"  I  came  with  father  and  mother  in  the  dog-cart,"  re- 
plied Nora.  "  Father  let  me  drive  Black  Bess.  I  had  a 
jolly  time;  but  she  did  pull  a  bit — my  wrists  are  quite 
stiff." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  the  other  girl.  "  I 
was  having  a  concert  all  by  myself.  I  can  imitate  the 
thrush,  the  blackbird,  and  most  of  the  birds  round  here. 
Shall  I  do  the  thrush  for  you  ?  " 

Before  Nora  could  speak  she  began  imitating  the  full 
liquid  notes  of  the  bird  to  perfection. 

"  I  declare  you  have  a  genius  for  it,"  said  Nora.  "  But 
how  are  you  yourself,  Biddy?" 

"  What  should  ail  me?  "  replied  Biddy.  "  I  never  had 
a  care  nor  a  worry  nor  a  trouble  yet ;  the  day  is  long,  and 
my  heart  is  light.  I  am  at  peace,  and  I  never  had  an  ache 
in  my  body  yet.  But  what  is  up  with  you,  Nora  al- 
annah  ?  " 

"  It's  that  mortgage,  you  know,"  said  Nora,  dropping 
her  voice.     "  What  is  your  father  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  mortgage,"  said  Bridget.  "  Mr.  Morgan 
came  down  from  Dublin  yesterday ;  he  and  father  had  a 
long  talk.  I  don't  know.  I  believe  there's  worry  in  the 
air,  and  when  there  is  I  always  steer  clear  of  it." 


20  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Your  father,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you ;  don't  question  me.  I  am  glad  you 
have  come.     Can't  you  stay  for  the  night  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't.  I  must  go  back  with  father  and  mother. 
The  fact  is  this,  Bridget,  I  believe  your  father  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  you." 

"  I  suppose  he  would.  What  do  you  want  to  coax  out 
of  me  now  ?  Oh,  Nora  alannah  !  don't  let  us  talk  of  wor- 
ries. Come  down  to  the  sea  with  me — won't  you?  I 
have  found  the  most  lovely  cave.  I  mean  to  explore  it 
with  lanterns.  You  go  into  the  cave,  and  you  can  walk 
in  nearly  half  a  mile ;  and  then  it  takes  a  sudden  turn  to 
the  right,  and  they  say  there's  an  entrance  into  another 
cave,  and  just  beyond  that  there's  a  ghost  supposed  to  be. 
Some  people  say  it  is  the  home  of  the  O'Shanaghgans' 
Banshee;  but  whatever  it  is,  I  mean  to  see  all  about  it." 

"Do  you  mean  the  Sea-Nymphs'  Cave?"  said  Nora. 
"  But  you  can  only  get  to  that  by  crossing  the  bay." 

"Yes.  Well,  I  am  going  to-morrow  night;  the  moon 
is  at  the  full.  You  will  come  over  and  go  with  me — won't 
you?  " 

"  Oh !  I  wish  I  could." 

"  But  why  can't  you?  Don't  let  us  worry  about  fathers 
and  mothers.  WVre  a  pair  of  girls,  and  must  have  our 
own  larks.  There's  Neil  and  there's  Mike ;  they  will  gel 
the  boat  all  ready,  and  we  can  start  off  for  the  cave  just 
when  the  tide  is  high ;  we  can  only  get  in  then.  We'll  run 
the  boat  in  as  far  as  it  will  go,  and  we'll  see  what  we'll 
see.     You  will  come — won't  you,  Nora?" 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things  in  the  world,"  said  Nora. 

"  Well,  why  not?  You  can  come  over  to-morrow  af- 
ternoon, and  stay  the  night  here.  Just  say  that  I  have 
asked  you." 

"  But  mother  does  not  much  like  my  sleeping  out." 


THE    WILD  MURPHYS.  21 

"  You  mean  that  she  does  not  like  you  to  sleep  at  the 
house  of  the  wild  Murphys — that's  what  you  mean, 
Nora.  Then,  get  away;  I  don't  want  to  force  my  com- 
pany on  you.  I  am  as  good  as  any  other  girl  in  Ireland ; 
I  have  the  blood  of  the  old  Irish  kings  in  my  veins ;  but 
if  you  are  too  proud  to  come,  why " 

"  I  am  not,  and  you  know  it,"  said  Nora;  "  but  mother 
is  an  Englishwoman,  and  she  thinks  we  are  all  a  little 
rough,  you  and  I  into  the  bargain.  All  the  same,  I'll 
come  to-morrow.  I  do  want  to  explore  that  cave.  Yes, 
I'll  come  if  you  give  me  a  proper  invitation  before 
mother." 

"  Oh,  mercy  me !  "  said  the  girl,  "  must  I  go  back  to 
the  house?  I  am  so  precious  shabby,  and  your  lady- 
mother  has  got  such  piercing  eyes.  But  there,  we  can 
smuggle  in  the  back  way.  I'll  go  up  to  my  room  and  put 
on  my  bits  of  finery.  Bedad !  but  I  look  as  handsome  as 
the  best  when  I  am  dressed  up.  Come  along,  Nora ;  we'll 
get  in  the  back  way,  and  I'll  give  the  invitation  in  proper 
style." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  INVITATION. 

Bridget  and  Nora  began  to  climb  up  a  very  steep  and 
narrow  winding  path.  It  was  nothing  more  than  a  grass 
path  in  the  midst  of  a  lot  of  rock  and  underwood,  but 
the  girls  were  like  young  chamois,  and  leaped  over  such 
obstacles  with  the  lightness  of  fawns.  Presently  they 
arrived  at  the  back  entrance  of  Cronane,  the  Murphys'  de- 
cidedly dilapidated  residence.  They  had  to  cross  a  court- 
yard covered  with  rough  cobbles  and  in  a  sad  state  of 
neglect  and  mess.  Some  pigs  were  wallowing  in  the  mire 
in  one  corner,  and  a  rough  pony  was  tethered  to  a  post 
not  far  off;  he  was  endeavoring,  with  painful  insistence, 
to  reach  a  clump  of  hay  which  was  sticking  out  of  a  hay- 
rick a  foot  or  two  away.  Nora,  seeing  his  wistful  eyes, 
sprang  forward,  pulled  a  great  handful  of  the  hay.  and 
held  it  to  his  mouth.  The  little  creature  almost  whin- 
nied with  delight. 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Bridget.  "  What  right  have 
you  to  give  our  hay  to  that  pony  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Nora ;  "  the  heart  in  him  was 
starving."  She  flung  her  arms  round  the  pony's  neck, 
pressed  a  kiss  on  his  forehead,  and  continued  to  cross  the 
yard  with  Biddy.  Two  or  three  ragged  urchins  soon  im- 
peded their  path ;  one  of  them  was  the  redoubtable  Xeil, 
the  other  Mike. 

"  Is  it  to-morrow  night  you  want  the  boat,  Miss 
Biddy  ?  "  said  Xeil. 


THE   INVITATION.  23 

Bridget  dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"  Look  here,  Neil,"  she  said,  "  mum's  the  word ;  you 
are  not  to  let  it  out  to  a  soul.  You  and  Mike  shall  come 
with  us,  and  Miss  Nora  is  coming  too." 

Neil  cast  a  bashful  and  admiring  glance  at  handsome 
Nora,  as  she  stood  very  erect  by  Biddy's  side. 

"  All  right,  miss,"  he  said. 

"  At  ten  o'clock,"  said  Bridget ;  "  have  the  boat  in  the 
cove  then,  and  we'll  be  down  there  and  ready." 

"  But  they  say,  miss,  that  the  Banshee  is  out  on  the 
nights  when  the  moon  is  at  the  full." 

"  The  O'Shanaghgans'  Banshee,"  said  Biddy,  glancing 
at  Nora,  whose  face  did  not  change  a  muscle,  although 
the  brightness  and  wistfulness  in  her  eyes  were  abun- 
dantly visible.     She  was  saying  to  herself : 

"  I  would  give  all -the  world  to  speak  to  the  Banshee 
alone — to  ask  her  to  get  father  out  of  his  difficulty." 

She  was  half-ashamed  of  these  thoughts,  although  she 
knew  and  almost  gloried  in  the  fact  that  she  was  super- 
stitious to  her  heart's  core. 

She  and  Biddy  soon  entered  the  house  by  the  back  en- 
trance, and  ran  up  some  carpetless  stairs  to  Biddy's  own 
room.  This  was  a  huge  bedroom,  carpetless  and  nearly 
bare.  A  little  camp-bed  stood  in  one  corner,  covered  by  a 
colored  counterpane ;  there  was  a  strip  of  carpet  beside 
the  bed,  and  another  tiny  strip  by  a  wooden  washhand- 
stand.  The  two  great  parliament  windows  were  desti- 
tute of  any  curtain  or  even  blind ;  they  stared  blankly  out 
across  the  lovely  summer  landscape  as  hideous  as  win- 
dows could  be. 

It  was  a  perfect  summer's  evening;  but  even  now  the 
old  frames  rattled  and  shook,  and  gave  some  idea  of  how 
they  would  behave  were  a  storm  abroad. 

Biddy,  who  was  quite  accustomed  to  her  room  and 


/ 
24  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

never  dreamed  that  any  maiden  could  sleep  in  a  more 
luxurious  chamber,  crossed  it  to  where  a  huge  wooden 
wardrobe  stood.  She  unlocked  the  door,  and  took  from 
its  depths  a  pale-blue  skirt  trimmed  with  quantities  of 
dirty  pink  flounces. 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  going  to  put  that  on,"  said  Nora, 
whose  own  training  had  made  her  sensitive  to  incon- 
gruity in  dress. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Biddy.  "  How  can  I  see  your  lady- 
mother  in  this  style  of  thing?" 

She  went  and  stood  in  front  of  Nora  with  her  arms 
akimbo. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  my  frock  has  a  rent  from  here  to 
here,  and  this  petticoat  is  none  of  the  best,  and  my  stock- 
ings— well,  I  know  it  is  my  own  fault,  but  I  won't  darn 
them,  and  there  is  a  great  hole  just  above  the  heel.  Now, 
this  skirt  will  hide  all  blemishes." 

"  But  what  will  your  mother  say  ?  " 

"  Bless  her !  "  said  Biddy,  "  she  won't  even  notice. 
Here,  let's  whip  on  the  dress." 

She  hastily  divested  herself  of  her  ragged  cotton  skirt, 
and  put  on  the  pale  blue  with  the  dirty  silk  flounces. 

"  What  are  you  looking  so  grave  for?  "  she  said,  glanc- 
ing up  at  Nora.  "  I  declare  you're  too  stately  for  any- 
thing, Nora  O'Shanaghgan !  You  stand  there,  and  I 
know  you  criticise  me." 

"  No ;  I  love  you  too  much,"  replied  Nora.  "  You 
are  Biddy  Murphy,  one  of  my  greatest  friends." 

"  Ah,  it's  sweet  to  hear  her,"  said  Biddy. 

"  But,  all  the  same,"  continued  Nora,  "  I  don't  like  that 
dress,  and  it's  terribly  unsuitable.  You  don't  look  lady- 
like in  it." 

"  Ladylike,  and  I  with  the  blood  of " 

"  Oh,  don't  begin  that,"  said  Nora ;  "  every  time  I  see 


THE  INVITATION.  25 

you  you  mention  that  fact.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
that  the  old  kings  were  ruffians,  and  dressed  abominably." 

"  If  you  dare,"  said  Biddy.  She  rushed  up  to  the  bed, 
dragged  out  her  pillow,  and  held  it  in  a  warlike  attitude. 
"  Another  word  about  my  ancestors,  and  this  will  be  at 
your  devoted  head !  "  she  cried. 

Nora  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  There,  now,  that's  better,"  said  Biddy.  She  dropped 
the  pillow  and  proceeded  with  her  toilet.  The  dirty  skirt 
with  its  tawdry  flounces  was  surmounted  by  a  bodice  of 
the  same  material,  equally  unsuitable. 

Biddy  brushed  out  her  mop  of  jet-black  hair,  which 
grew  in  thick  curls  all  over  her  head  and  stood  out  like  a 
mop  round  her  shoulders.  She  was  a  plain  girl,  with 
small,  very  black  eyes,  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a  wide 
mouth ;  but  there  was  an  irresistible  expression  of  droll- 
ery in  her  face,  and  when  she  laughed,  showing  her  milk- 
white  teeth,  there  were  people  who  even  thought  her  at- 
tractive. Nora  really  loved  her,  although  the  two,  stand- 
ing side  by  side,  were,  as  far  as  appearances  were  con- 
cerned, as  the  poles  asunder. 

"  Now,  come  along,"  said  Biddy.  "  I  knowT  I  look  per- 
fectly charming.  Oh,  what  a  sweet,  sweet  blue  it  is,  and 
these  ducky  little  flounces !  It  was  Aunt  Mary  O'Flanna- 
gan  sent  me  this  dress  at  Christmas.  She  wore  it  at  a 
fancy  ball,  and  said  it  might  suit  me.  It  does,  down  to 
the  ground.  Let  me  drop  a  courtesy  to  you,  Nora 
O'Shanaghgan.  Oh,  how  proper  we  look !  But  I  don't 
care!  Now  I'm  not  afraid  to  face  anyone — why,  the 
old  kings  would  have  been  proud  of  me.  Come  along — 
do." 

She  caught  Nora's  hand;  they  dashed  down  the  wide, 
carpetless  stairs,  crossed  a  huge  hall,  and  entered  a  room 
which  was  known  as  the  drawing  room  at  Cronane.     It 


26  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

was  an  enormous  apartment,  but  bore  the  same  traces  of 
neglect  and  clirt  which  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  the  house 
testified  to.  The  paper  on  the  walls  was  moldy  in 
patches,  and  in  one  or  two  places  it  had  detached  itself 
from  the  wall  and  fell  in  great  sheets  to  the  ground.  One 
loose  piece  of  paper  was  tacked  up  with  two  or  three  huge 
tacks,  and  bulged  out,  swaying  with  the  slightest  breeze. 
The  carpet,  which  covered  the  entire  floor,  was  worn 
threadbare ;  but,  to  make  up  for  these  defects,  there  were 
cabinets  of  the  rarest  and  most  exquisite  old  china,  some 
of  the  pieces  being  worth  fabulous  sums.  Vases  of  the 
same  china  adorned  the  tall  marble  mantelpiece,  and  stood 
on  brackets  here  and  there  about  the  room.  There  were 
also  some  exquisite  and  wonderfully  carved  oak,  a  Queen 
Anne  sofa,  and  several  spindle-legged  chairs.  An  old 
spinet  stood  in  a  distant  window,  and  the  drab  moreen 
curtains  had  once  been  handsome. 

Standing  on  the  hearth,  with  his  elbow  resting  on  the 
marble  mantelpiece  close  to  a  unique  vase  of  antique  de- 
sign, stood  Squire  O'Shanaghgan.  He  was  talking  in 
pleasant  and  genial  tones  to  Mrs.  Murphy,  a  podgy  little 
woman,  with  a  great  likeness  to  Biddy. 

Mrs.  Murphy  wore  a  black  alpaca  dress  and  a  little 
three-cornered  knitted  shawl  across  her  shoulders.  She 
had  gray  hair,  which  curled  tightly  like  her  daughter's ; 
on  top  of  it  was  a  cap  formed  of  rusty  black  velvet  and 
equally  rusty  black  lace.  She  looked  much  excited  at  the 
advent  of  the  Squire,  and  her  cheeks  testified  to  the  fact 
by  the  brightness  of  their  color. 

Mr.  Murphy  was  doing  penance  opposite  to  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan.  He  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  that  stately 
lady,  and  was  glancing  nervously  round  at  his  wife  and 
the  Squire  from  moment  to  moment. 

"  Yes,  madam,''  he  was  saying,  "  it's  turnips  we  are  go- 


THE  INVITATION.  27 

ing  to  plant  in  that  field  just  yonder.  We  have  had  a  very 
good  crop  of  hay  too.  It  is  a  fine  season,  and  the  potatoes 
promise  to  be  a  sight  for  sore  eyes." 

"  I  hate  the  very  name  of  that  root,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan  in  her  most  drawling  tones. 

"  Why,  then,  ma'am,  you  don't  say  so,"  answered  Mur- 
phy ;  "  it  seems  hard  on  the  poor  things  that  keep  us  all 
going.  The  potheen  and  the  potatoes — what  would  Ire- 
land be  without  'em?  Glory  be  to  goodness,  it's  quite 
awful  to  hear  you  abusing  the  potato,  ma'am." 

"  I  am  English,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

On  this  scene  Nora  and  Biddy  entered.  Mr.  Murphy 
glanced  with  intense  relief  at  his  daughter.  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan  slightly  raised  her  brows.  It  was  the 
faintest  of  movements,  but  the  superciliousness  of  the  ac- 
tion smote  upon  Nora,  who  colored  painfully. 

Biddy,  taking  her  courage  in  her  hand,  went  straight 
up  to  the  august  lady. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  said. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  extended  her  hand  with  a  limp 
action. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  panted  Biddy. 

"  What  is  up,  my  dear  Bridget  ?  "  said  her  mother, 
turning  round  and  looking  at  her  daughter.  "  Oh,  to 
goodness,  what  have  you  put  that  on  for  ?  It's  your  very 
best  Sunday-go-to-meeting  dress,  and  you  won't  have  an- 
other, I  can  tell  you,  for  six  months." 

"  There  now,  mother,  hush,  do,"  said  Biddy.  "  I  have 
put  it  on  for  a  purpose.  Why,  then,  it's  sweet  I  want  to 
make  myself,  and  I  believe  it's  sweet  I  look.  Oh,  there's 
the  mirror ;  let  me  gaze  at  myself." 

She  crossed  the  room, and  stood  in  front  of  a  long  glass, 
examining  her  unsuitable  dress  from  the  front  and  side : 
and  then,  being  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  elegance  of 


28  LIGHT  <T    THE  MORNING. 

her  appearance,  she  went  back  and  stood  in  front  of  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan. 

"  It's  a  request  I  want  to  make  of  you,  ma'am,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  Biddy,  I  will  listen  to  it  if  you  will  ask  me  prop- 
erly," said  Airs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Biddy.     "  How  shall  I  say  it?  " 

"  Speak  quietly,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  Biddy,  I  do  wish  you  would  take  pattern  by 
Nora,  and  by  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy, 
who  in  her  heart  of  hearts  envied  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan's 
icy  manners,  and  thought  them  the  most  perfect  in  all  the 
world.  She  was  in  mortal  fear  of  this  good  lady,  even 
more  terrified  of  her  than  her  husband  was. 

"  Well,  Biddy,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

"May  Nora  come  and  spend  to-morrow  night  here?" 

"  No,"  was  on  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan's  lips;  but  just  then 
the  Squire    came  forward. 

"  To  be  sure  she  may;  it  will  do  her  a  sight  of  good. 
The  child  hardly  ever  goes  from  home." 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  raised  displeased  eyes  to  her  hus- 
band's face. 

"  Girls  of  Nora's  age  ought  to  stay  at  home,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Squire  ;  "  and  we 
would  miss  her  awfully  if  she  was  away  from  us ;  but  a 
day  or  two  off  duty — eh,  madam?"  He  glanced  at  his 
wife. 

"  You  have  your  answer,  Biddy,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan ;  "  her  father  wishes  Nora  to  accept  your  invita- 
tion.    She  may  stay  away  for  one  night — no  longer." 

Biddy  winked  broadly  round  at  Nora. 

"  Now,  then."  she  said.  "  come  along."  She  seized  her 
friend  by  the  arm,  and  whisked  her  out  of  the  room. 

"  It  was  the  dress  that  did  it,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  the  love- 


THE  INVITATION.  29 

liest  garment  in  all  the  world.  Come  along  now,  and 
let's  take  it  off.     I  want  to  gather  those  eggs  for  you." 

She  ran  upstairs  again,  followed  by  Nora.  The  dress 
was  disposed  of  in  the  large  wooden  wardrobe,  the  old 
torn  frock  readjusted  on  Biddy's  stout  form,  and  the  girls 
went  out  into  the  lovely  summer  air.  The  eggs  which 
Nora  required  were  put  into  the  little  basket,  and  in  half 
an  hour  the  O'Shanaghgans'  party  were  returning  at  full 
speed  to  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  Nora  glanced  once  into 
her  father's  face,  and  her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Her 
high  spirits  left  her  as  if  by  magic ;  she  felt  a  lump  in  her 
throat,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  drive  hardly  spoke. 

The  Squire,  on  the  contrary,  talked  incessantly.  He 
talked  more  than  ever  after  Nora  had  looked  at  him.  He 
slapped  his  wife  on  the  shoulder,  and  complimented  her 
on  her  bravery.  Nora's  driving  was  the  very  best  in  all 
the  world ;  she  was  a  born  whip ;  she  had  no  fear  in  her ; 
she  was  his  own  colleen,  the  Light  o'  the  Morning,  the 
dearest,  sweetest  soul  on  earth. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghan  replied  very  briefly  and  coldly  to  her 
husband's  excited  words.  She  treated  them  with  what 
she  imagined  the  contempt  they  deserved ;  but  Nora  was 
neither  elated  just  then  by  her  father's  praise  nor  chilled 
by  her  mother's  demeanor.  Every  thought  of  her  heart, 
every  nerve  in  her  highly  strung  frame,  was  concentrated 
on  one  fact  alone — she  had  surprised  a  look,  a  look  on  the 
Squire's  face,  which  told  her  that  his  heart  was  broken. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  I  AM  ASHAMED  OF  YOU." 

It  was  late  that  same  evening,  and  the  household  at  the 
Castle  had  all  retired  to  rest.  Nora  was  in  her  own  room. 
This  room  was  not  furnished  according  to  an  English 
girl's  fancy.  It  was  plain  and  bare,  but,  compared  to 
Biddy  Murphy's  chamber,  it  wTas  a  room  of  comfort  and 
even  luxury.  A  neat  carpet  covered  the  floor,  there  were 
white  dimity  curtains  to  the  windows,  and  the  little  bed 
in  its  distant  recess  looked  neat  and  comfortable.  It  is 
true  that  the  washhand-stand  was  wooden,  and  the  basin 
and  jug  of  the  plainest  type ;  but  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  her- 
self saw  that  Nora  had  at  least  what  she  considered  the 
necessaries  of  life.  She  had  a  neat  hanging-press  for  her 
dresses,  and  a  pretty  chest  of  drawers,  which  her  mother 
herself  had  saved  up  her  pin-money  to  buy  for  her. 

Nora  now  stood  by  one  of  the  open  windows,  her  thick 
and  very  long  black  hair  hanging  in  a  rippling  mass  over 
her  neck  and  shoulders.  Suddenly,  as  she  bent  out  of  the 
window,  the  faint,  very  faint  perfume  of  a  cigar  came  up 
on  the  night  air.  She  sniffed  excitedly  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  bending  a  little  more  forward,  said  in  a  low 
tone: 

"Is  that  you,  Terry?" 

"  Yes — why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ?  "  was  the  somewhat 
ungracious  response. 

"  I  am  not  sleepv.     May  I  come  down  and  join  you?  M 

"  No." 


"/  AM  ASHAMED   OF    YOU."  31 

"  Will  you  come  up  and  join  me  ?  " 

The  answer  was  about  to  be  "  No  "  ;  there  was  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  then  Nora's  voice  said  pleadingly,  "  Ah, 
do  now,  Terry ;  I  want  to  say  something  so  badly." 

"  But  if  anybody  hears  ?  " 

"  They  can't  hear.  Father  and  mother's  room  is  at  the 
other  end  of  the  house." 

"  All  right ;  don't  say  any  more ;  you'll  wake  people 
with  that  chatter  of  yours.     I'm  coming." 

In  a  couple  of  minutes  there  was  a  knock  at  Nora's 
door.     She  flew  to  open  it,  and  Terence  came  in. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  said. 

"  To  talk  to  you ;  I  have  got  something  to  say.  Come 
over  and  sit  by  the  window." 

Terence  obeyed. 

"  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  put  out  that  light,"  said 
Nora.  She  ran  to  the  dressing  table,  and  before  her 
brother  could  prevent  her    had  extinguished  the  candle. 

"  Now,  then,  there  is  the  dear  old  lady  moon  to  look 
down  upon  us,  and  nothing  else  can  see  us." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed,  Nora  ?  Hannah  would 
say  that  you  are  losing  your  beauty-sleep  sitting  up  at  this 
hour." 

"  As  if  anything  about  me  mattered  just  now,"  said 
Nora. 

"Why,  what's  up?" 

"  The  old  thing,  Terry ;  you  must  know  what's  up." 

"  What  old  thing?     I  am  sure  I  can't  guess." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  can't  you  ought.  Father  is  in  a 
peck  of  trouble — a  peck  of  trouble." 

Nora's  voice  broke  and  trembled.  Terence,  who  dis- 
liked a  scene  beyond  anything,  fidgeted  restlessly.  He 
leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  dropped  his  cigar  ash  on 
the  ground  beneath. 


32  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  And  you  are  his  only  son  and  the  heir  to  Castle 
O'Shanaghgan." 

"  The  heir  to  a  pack  of  ruins,"  said  the  boy  impatiently. 

"  Terry,  you  don't  deserve  to  be  father's  son.  How 
dare  you  speak  like  that  of  the — the  beloved  old  place  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,  Nora,  if  you  are  going  into  heroics  I 
think  I'll  be  off  to  bed,"  said  Terence,  yawning. 

"  No,  you  won't ;  you  must  listen.  I  have  got  some- 
thing most  important  to  say." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  give  you  five  minutes ;  not  another 
moment.  I  know  you,  Nora;  you  always  exaggerate 
things.     You  are  an  Irishwoman  to  your  backbone." 

"  I  am,  and  I  glory  in  the  fact." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  glory  in  it.  Don't  you 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  mother  and  her  rela- 
tions? " 

"  I  love  my  mother,  but  I  am  glad  I  don't  take  after 
her,"  said  Nora ;  "  yes,  I  am  glad." 

The  moon  shone  on  the  two  young  faces,  and  Nora 
looked  up  at  her  brother;  he  put  on  a  supercilious  smile, 
and  folded  his  arms  across  his  broad  chest. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied ;  "  and  I  should  like  to  shake  you 
for  looking  like  that.  I  am  glad  I  am  Irish  through  and 
through  and  through.  Would  I  give  my  warm  heart  and 
my  enthusiasm  for  your  coldness  and  deliberation  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Nora,  what  a  little  ignorant  thing  you 
are!     Do  you  suppose  no  Englishman  has  enthusiasm?" 

"  We'll  drop  the  subject,"  said  Nora.  "  It  is  one  I 
won't  talk  of :  it  puts  me  into  such  a  boiling  rage  to  see 
you  sitting  like  that/' 

Terence  did  not  speak  at  all  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said 
quietly : 

"  What  is  this  thing  that  you  have  got  to  tell  me?  The 
five  minutes  are  nearly  up,  you  know." 


"/  AM  ASHAMED   OF    YOU."  33 

"  Oh,  bother  your  five  minutes !  I  cannot  tell  you  in 
five  minutes.  When  my  heart  is  scalded  with  unshed 
tears,  how  can  I  measure  time  by  minutes?  It  has  to  do 
with  father ;  it  is  worse  than  anything  that  has  ever  gone 
before." 

"  What  is  it,  Norrie  ?  "  Her  brother's  tone  had  sud- 
denly become  gentle.  He  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  on 
her  arm;  the  gentleness  of  the  tone,  the  unexpected 
sweetness  of  the  touch  overcame  Nora;  she  flung  her 
arms  passionately  round  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  and  you  are  the  only  brother  I  have  got !  "  she 
sobbed ;  "  and  I  could  love  you — I  could  love  you  like  any- 
thing. Can't  you  be  sympathetic?  Can't  you  be  sweet? 
Can't  you  be  dear?  " 

"  Oh,  come,  come !  "  said  Terence,  struggling  to  release 
himself  from  Nora's  entwining  arms ;  "  I  am  not  made 
like  you,  you  know;  but  I  am  not  a  bad  chap  at  heart. 
Now,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  try  and  tell  you." 

"  And  for  goodness'  sake  don't  look  so  sorrowfully  at 
me,  Nora ;  we  can  talk,  and  we  can  act  and  do  good  deeds, 
without  giving  ourselves  away.  I  hate  girls  who  wear 
their  hearts  on  their  sleeves." 

"  Oh !  you  will  never  understand,"  said  Nora,  starting 
back  again;  all  her  burst  of  feeling  turned  in  upon  her- 
self. "  I  can't  imagine  how  you  are  father's  son,"  she  be- 
gan. But  then  she  stopped,  waited  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  quietly,  "  There  is  a  fresh  mortgage,  and  it  is 
for  a  very  big  sum." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  said  Terence.  "  I  have  heard  of 
mortgages  all  my  life;  it  seems  to  be  the  fashion  at 
O'Shanaghgan  to  mortgage  to  any  extent.  There  is 
nothing  in  that;  father  will  give  up  a  little  more  of  the 
land." 


34  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  How  much  land  do  you  think  is  left?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  say ;  not  much,  I  presume." 

"It  is  my  impression,"  said  Nora — "I  am  not  sure; 
but  it  is  my  impression — that  there  is  nothing  left  to 
meet  this  big  thing  but  the — the — the  land  on  which  " — 
her  voice  broke — "  Terry,  the  land  on  which  the  house 
stands." 

u  Really,  Nora,  you  are  so  melodramatic.  I  don't 
know  how  you  can  know  anything  of  this." 

"  I  only  guess.     Mother  is  very  unhappy." 

"Mother?     Is  she?" 

"  Ah,  I  have  touched  you  there !  But  anyhow,  father 
is  in  worse  trouble  than  he  has  been  yet;  I  never,  never 
saw  him  look  as  he  did  to-night." 

"  As  if  looks  mattered." 

"  The  look  I  saw  to-night  does  matter,"  said  Nora. 
"  We  were  coming  home  from  Cronane,  and  I  was  driv- 
ing." 

"  It  is  madness  to  let  you  drive  Black  Bess,"  inter- 
rupted Terence.  "  I  wonder  my  father  risks  spoiling 
one  of  his  most  valuable  horses." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Terry ;  I  can  drive  as  well  as  you,  and 
better,  thanks,"  replied  Nora,  much  nettled,  for  her  excel- 
lent driving  was  one  of  the  few  things  she  was  proud  of. 
"  Well,  I  turned  round,  and  I  saw  father's  face,  and,  oh! 
it  was  just  as  if  someone  had  stabbed  me  through  the 
heart.  You  know,  or  perhaps  you  don't,  that  the  last  big 
loan  came  from  Squire  Murphy." 

"  Old  Dan  Murphy :  then  we  are  as  safe  as  we  can  be," 
said  Terence,  rising  and  whistling.  "  You  really  did 
make  me  feel  uncomfortable,  you  have  such  a  queer  way ; 
but  if  it  is  Dan  Murphy,  he  will  give  father  any  amount 
of  time.     Why,  they  are  the  best  of  friends." 

"  Well,  father  went  to  see  him  on  the  subject — I  hap- 


"I  AM  ASHAMED   OF    YOU."  35 

pen  to  know  that — and  I  don't  think  he  has  given  him 
time.  There  is  something  wrong,  anyhow — I  don't  know 
what ;  but  there  is  something  very  wrong,  and  I  mean  to 
find  out  to-morrow." 

"  Nora,  if  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  interfere.  You  are 
only  a  young  girl,  and  these  kind  of  things  are  quite  out 
of  your  province.  Father  has  pulled  along  ever  since 
you  and  I  were  born.  Most  Irish  gentlemen  are  poor  in 
these  days.  How  can  they  help  it?  The  whole  country 
is  going  to  ruin;  there  is  no  proper  trade;  there  is  no 
proper  system  anywhere.  The  tenants  are  allowed  to  pay 
their  rent  just  as  they  please " 

"  As  if  we  could  harry  them,"  said  inconsistent 
Nora.  "  The  poor  dears,  with  their  tiny  cots  and  their 
hard,  hard  times.  I'd  rather  eat  dry  bread  all  my  days 
than  press  one  of  them." 

"  If  these  are  your  silly  views,  you  must  expect  our 
father  to  be  badly  off,  and  the  property  to  go  to  the  dogs, 
and  everything  to  come  to  an  end,"  said  the  brother  in  a 
discontented  tone.  "  But  there,  I  say  once  more  that  you 
have  exaggerated  in  this  matter;  there  is  nothing  more 
wrong  than  there  has  been  since  I  can  remember.  I  am 
glad  I  am  going  to  England ;  I  am  glad  I  am  going  to  be 
out  of  it  all  for  a  bit." 

"  You  going  to  England — you,  Terry?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  you  know  ?  Our  Uncle  George  Hart- 
rick  has  asked  me  to  stay  with  him,  and  I  am  going." 

"  And  you  can  go?     You  can  leave  us  just  now?  " 

"  Why,  of  course ;  there  will  be  fewer  mouths  to  feed. 
It's  a  good  thing  every  way." 

"  But  Uncle  George  is  a  rich  man?  " 

"What  of  that?" 

"  I  mean  he  lives  in  a  big  place,  and  has  heaps  and 
heaps  of  money,"  said  Nora. 


36  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  You  cannot  go  to  him  shabby.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  for  dress?" 

"  Mother  will  manage  that." 

"  Mother!"  Nora  leaped  up  from  the  window-ledge 
and  stood  facing  her  brother.  "  You  have  spoken  to 
mother?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have.  Dear  me,  Nora,  you  are  getting  to 
be  quite  an  unpleasant  sort  of  girl." 

;'  You  have  spoken  to  mother,"  repeated  Nora,  "  and 
she  has  promised  to  help  you  ?     How  will  she  do  it  ?  " 

Terence  moved  restlessly. 

"  I  suppose  she  knows  herself  how  she  will  do  it." 

"  And  you  will  let  her?"  said  Nora — "  you,  a  man,  will 
let  her  ?  You  know  she  has  no  money ;  you  know  she  has 
nothing  but  her  little  trinkets,  and  you  allow  her  to  sell 
those  to  give  you  pleasure?  Oh,  I  am  ashamed  of  you! 
I  am  sorry  you  are  my  brother.     How  can  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Nora,  I  won't  be  scolded  by  you.  After 
all,  I  am  your  elder,  and  you  are  bound,  at  any  rate,  to 
show  me  decent  outward  respect.  If  you  only  mean  to 
talk  humbug  of  this  sort  I  am  of!  to  bed." 

Terence  rose  from  his  place  on  the  window-ledge,  and, 
without  glancing  at  Nora,  left  the  room.  When  he  did 
so  she  clasped  her  hands  high  above  her  head,  and  sat  for 
a  moment  looking  out  into  the  night.  Her  face  was  quiv- 
ering, but  no  tears  rose  to  her  wide-open  eyes.  After  a 
moment  she  turned,  and  began  very  slowly  to  undress. 

"  I  will  see  the  Banshee  to-morrow,  if  it  is  possible," 
she  whispered  under  her  breath.  "  If  ruin  can  be  averted, 
it  shall  be.  I  don't  mind  leaving  the  place ;  I  don't  mind 
starving.  I  don't  mind  anything  but  that  look  on  father's 
face.  But  father's  heart  shall  not  be  broken;  not  while 
Nora  O'Shanaghgan  is  in  the  world." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CAVE  OF  THE  BANSHEE. 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  evening  two  eager  ex- 
cited girls  might  have  been  seen  stealing  down  a  narrow 
path  which  led  to  Murphy's  Cove.  Murphy's  Cove  was 
a  charming  little  semicircular  bay  which  ran  rather  deeply 
into  the  land.  The  sand  here  was  of  that  silvery  sheen 
which,  at  low  tide,  shone  like  burnished  silver.  The  cove 
was  noted  for  its  wonderful  shells,  producing  many 
cowries  and  long  shells  called  pointers. 

In  the  days  of  her  early  youth  Nora  had  explored  the 
treasures  of  this  cove,  and  had  secured  a  valuable  collec- 
tion of  shells,  as  well  as  very  rare  seaweeds,  which  she 
had  carefully  dried.  Her  mother  had  shown  her  how  to 
make  seaweeds  and  shells  into  baskets,  and  many  of  these 
amateur  productions  adorned  the  walls  of  Nora's  bed- 
room. 

All  the  charm  of  these  things  had  passed  away,  how- 
ever; the  time  had  come  when  she  no  longer  cared  to 
gather  shells  or  collect  seaweeds.  She  felt  that  she  was 
turning  very  fast  into  a  woman.  She  had  all  an  Irish 
girl's  high  spirits ;  but  she  had,  added  to  these,  a  pecu- 
liarly warm  and  sensitive  heart.  When  those  she  loved 
were  happy,  no  one  in  all  the  world  was  happier  than 
Nora  O'Shanaghgan;  but  when  any  gloom  fell  on  the 
home-circle,  then  Nora  suffered  far  more  than  anyone 
gave  her  credit  for. 

She  had  passed  an  anxious  day  at  home,  watching  her 
father  intently,  afraid  to  question  him,  and  only  darting 

37 


38  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

glances  at  him  when  she  thought  he  was  not  looking. 
The  Squire,  however,  seemed  cheerful  enough,  plodding 
over  his  land,  or  arranging  about  the  horses,  or  doing  the 
thousand-and-one  small  things  which  occupied  his  life. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about 
the  mortgage,  and  was  eagerly  discussing  ways  and 
means  with  Terence.  Terence  avoided  Nora's  eyes,  and 
rode  off  early  in  the  evening  to  see  the  nearest  tailor.  It 
was  not  likely  that  this  individual  could  make  a  fitting 
suit  for  the  young  heir  to  O'Shanaghgan ;  but  the  boy 
must  have  something  to  travel  in,  and  Mrs.  O'Shanagh- 
gan gave  implicit  directions  as  to  the  London  tailor  whom 
he  was  to  visit  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  Metropolis. 

"  For  you  are  to  look  your  best,  and  never  to  forget 
that  you  are  my  son,"  was  her  rejoinder;  and  Terence 
forgot  all  about  Nora's  words  on  the  previous  evening. 
He  was  to  start  in  two  days'  time.  Even  Nora  became 
excited  over  his  trip  and  in  her  mother's  account  of  her 
Uncle  Hartrick. 

44  I  wish  you  were  going,  Nora,"  said  the  mother.  "  I 
should  be  proud  of  you.  Of  course  you  are  a  little  rough 
colt ;  but  you  could  be  trained ;"  and  then  she  looked  with 
sudden  admiration  at  her  handsome  daughter. 

4<  She  has  a  face  in  a  thousand,"  she  thought,  "  and  she 
is  absolutely  unconscious  of  her  beauty." 

At  five  o'clock  Nora  had  started  off  in  the  pony-trap 
to  visit  her  friend  Biddy.  The  trap  had  been  brought 
back  by  one  of  the  numerous  gossoons  who  abounded  all 
over  O'Shanaghgan,  and  Biddy  and  Nora  had  a  few 
hours  before  the  great  secret  expedition  was  to  take  place. 
And  now  the  time  had  come.  The  girls  had  put  on  thick 
serge  petticoats,  short  jackets,  and  little  tight-fitting  caps 
on  their  heads.  There  was  always  a  breeze  blowing  round 
that  extreme  corner  of  the  Atlantic.    Never  did  the  finest 


THE    CAVE   OF    THE  BANSHEE.  39 

summer  day  find  the  waves  calm  there.  Nora  and  Biddy 
had  been  accustomed  to  these  waves  since  their  earliest 
girlhood,  and  were  not  the  least  afraid.  They  stood  now 
waiting  in  the  little  cove,  and  looking  round  wonderingly 
for  the  appearance  of  Mike  and  Neil  upon  the  scene. 
They  were  to  bring  the  boat  with  them.  The  girls  were 
to  wade  through  the  surf  to  get  into  it,  and  Biddy  was 
stooping  down  to  take  off  her  shoes  and  stockings  for  the 
purpose. 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  she  cried.  "  Do  you  see  that  ugly  bank 
of  clouds  just  behind  the  moon?  I  hope  my  lady  moon 
is  not  going  to  hide  herself;  we  can  do  nothing  in  the 
cave  if  we  have  not  light." 

"  But  the  cave  is  dark,  surely  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  don't  you  know  there  is  a  break  in  the  cliffs 
above,  just  in  the  center?  And  it  is  down  there  the  moon 
sends  its  shafts  when  it  is  at  the  full ;  it  is  there  the  Ban- 
shee will  meet  us,  if  we  are  to  see  her  at  all.  The  shafts 
from  the  moon  will  only  enter  the  cave  at  midnight.  I 
have  counted  the  times,  and  I  know  everything." 

"  I  want  to  see  the  Banshee  so  badly,"  said  Nora. 

"  You  won't  be  frightened,  then,  Nora  ?" 

"  Frightened  ?     No.     Not  of   our  own   Banshee." 

"  They  say,"  began  Biddy,  "  that  if  you  see  a  spirit,  and 
come  face  to  face  with  it,  you  are  good  for " 

"What?"  said  Nora. 

"  If  you  hold  out  during  the  year  you  have  seen  the 
spirit,  you  are  good  to  live  for  another  ten;  but  during 
that  first  year  you  are  in  extreme  danger  of  dying.  If 
you  escape  that  fate,  however,  and  are  whole  and  sound, 
you  will  be  quite  safe  to  live  for  ten  more  years.  They 
say  nothing  can  send  you  out  of  the  world ;  not  sickness, 
nor  accidents,  nor  fire,  nor  water;  but  the  second  year 
you  are  liable  to  an  accident,  and  the  year  after  to  a  mis- 


4°  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

fortune;  then  in  the  fourth  year  your  luck  turns — in  the 
fourth  year  you  find  gold,  in  the  fifth  year  health,  in  the 
sixth  year  beauty.  Oh,  I  would  give  anything  to  be  beau- 
tiful r 

"  You  are  very  well  as  you  are,  Biddy." 

"  Very  well  as  I  am  ?  What  nonsense !  Look  at  my 
turned-up  nose."  Here  Biddy  pressed  her  finger  on  the 
feature  in  question. 

"  It  looks  very  racy,"  answered  Nora. 

"  Bedad,  then,  it  does  that,"  replied  Biddy.  "  I  believe 
I  got  it  sound  and  safe  from  one  of  the  old " 

"  You  needn't  go  on,"  cried  Nora.  "  I  know  what  you 
are  going  to  say." 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  say  it?  You  would  be  proud 
enough  to  be  descended  from " 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  very  fine  descent  of  my  own,"  answered 
Nora,  with  spirit. 

"  Now,  if  I  was  like  you,"  began  Biddy,  "  wouldn't  I 
be  proud,  just?  But  dear,  dear!  there  never  were  two 
Irish  girls  farther  asunder  as  far  as  appearance  goes.  See 
here,  let  me  describe  myself,  feature  by  feature.  Oh, 
here's  a  clear  pool.  I  can  get  a  glimpse  of  myself  in  it. 
You  come  and  look  in  too,  Nora.  Now,  then,  we  can  see 
ourselves.  Oh,  holy  poker!  it's  cruel  the  difference  be- 
tween us.  Here's  my  forehead  low  and  bumpy,  and  my 
little  nose,  scarcely  any  of  it,  and  what  there  is  turned 
right  up  to  the  sky ;  and  my  wide  mouth,  and  my  little 
eyes,  and  my  hair  just  standing  straight  up  as  rakish  as 
you  please.  And  look  at  you,  with  your  elegant  features 
and  your — oh,  but  it's  genteel  you  are ! — and  I  love  you, 
Nora  alannah  ;  I  love  you,  and  am  not  a  bit  jealous  of 
you." 

Here  the  impulsive  c^irl  threw  her  arms  round  her 
friend's  neck  and  kissed  her. 


THE   CAVE   OF   THE  BANSHEE.  41 

"  All  the  same,"  she  added,  "  I  wish  those  clouds  were 
not  coming  up.  It  has  been  so  precious  hot  all  day  that 
I  should  not  be  the  least  surprised  if  we  had  a  thunder- 
storm." 

"  A  thunderstorm  while  we  are  in  the  cave  would  be 
magnificent,"  said  Nora. 

"  Does  anything  ever  frighten  you,  Nora?" 

"  I  don't  think  anything  in  nature  could  frighten  me ; 
but  there  are  some  things  I  am  frightened  at." 

"  What?    Do  tell  me.    I  should  like  to  know." 

"  You'll  keep  it  a  secret — won't  you,  Biddy  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  When  did  I  ever  blaze  out  any- 
thing you  told  me?    If  I  am  plain,  I  am  faithful." 

"  Well,  I  am  afraid  of  pain"  said  Nora. 

"  Pain !  You  ?  But  I  have  seen  you  scratch  yourself 
ever  so  deep  and  not  so  much  as  wink;  and  I  mind  that 
time  when  you  twisted  your  ankle  and  you  didn't  even 
pretend  you  were  hurt." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  that  sort  of  pain.  I  am  terrified  of  pain 
when  it  affects  those  I  love.  But  there !  don't  ask  me  any 
more.  Here  are  the  boys  ;  we'll  jump  into  the  boat  and  be 
off.  Why,  it  is  half-past  ten,  and  it  will  take  half-an- 
hour's  good  rowing  to  cross  the  bay,  and  then  we  have  to 
enter  the  cave  and " 

"  I  don't  like  those  clouds,"  said  Biddy.  "  I  wonder  if 
it  is  safe  to  go." 

"  Safe  ?"  said  Nora.  "  We  must  go.  Mother  won't 
allow  me  to  spend  another  night  here,  and  I  shall  lose  my 
chance.  I  am  determined  to  speak  to  the  Banshee  or  die 
in  the  attempt." 

The  splash  of  oars  was  now  distinctly  audible,  and  the 
next  moment  a  four-oared  gig  swiftly  turned  the  little 
promontory  and  shot  with  a  rapid  movement  into  the 
bay. 


42  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Why,"  said  Biddy,  running  forward,  "  who's  in  the 
boat  ?" 

A  lad  and  a  man  now  stood  upright  and  motioned  to 
the  girls. 

"  Where's  Neil?"  said  Biddy. 

"  Xeil  could  not  come,  Miss  Biddy,  so  I'm  taking  his 
place,"  said  the  deep  voice  of  a  powerful-looking  man. 
He  had  a  black  beard  down  to  his  waist,  flashing  black 
eyes,  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a  low  forehead.  A  more 
bull-dog  and  ferocious-looking  individual  it  would  be  hard 
to  find.  Biddy,  however,  knew  him ;  he  was  Neil's  father 
— Andy  Xeil,  as  he  was  called.  He  was  known  to  be  a 
lawless  and  ferocious  man,  and  was  very  much  dreaded 
by  most  of  the  neighbors  around.  Neither  Nora  nor 
Biddy,  however,  felt  any  reason  to  fear  him  and  Nora  said 
almost  cheefully : 

"  As  we  are  to  have  such  a  stiff  row,  it  is  just  as  well 
to  have  a  man  in  the  boat." 

"  Faix,  now,  young  ladies,  come  along,  and  don't  keep 
me  waiting,"  said  Andy,  rising  and  brandishing  one  of 
his  oars  in  a  threatening  way.  "  There's  a  storm  coming 
on,  and  I  want  to  be  out  of  this  afore  it  overtakes  us.  Oh, 
glory  be  to  goodness,  there's  a  flash  of  lightning!" 

There  came  a  flash  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  light- 
ing up  the  thick  bank  of  rapidly  approaching  clouds. 

"  Nora,  had  we  better  go  to-night?  "  said  Biddy.  She 
had  as  little  fear  as  her  friend,  but  even  she  did  not  con- 
template with  pleasure  a  wild  storm  in  the  midst  of  the 
Atlantic. 

The  man  Neil  looked  gravely  round. 

"  Och !  good  luck  to  ye  now,  young  ladies ;  don't  be 
kaping  me  waiting  after  the  botheration  of  coming  to 
fetch  yez.     Come  along,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Nora.     She  splashed  bravely  into 


THE    CAVE   OF   THE  BANSHEE.  43 

the  surf,  for  the  boat  could  not  quite  reach  the  shore. 
The  waves  reached  high  above  her  pretty,  rosy  ankles  as 
she  stepped  into  the  boat. 

Biddy  followed  in  her  wake ;  and  then  Nora,  producing 
a  rough  towel,  began  to  dry  her  feet.  Both  girls  put  on 
their  shoes  and  stockings  again  in  absolute  silence. 

Neil  had  now  faced  the  boat  seaward,  and  with  great 
sweeps  with  a  pair  of  sculls  was  taking  it  out  to  sea.  The 
tide  was  in  their  favor,  and  they  went  at  a  rapid  rate. 
The  man  did  not  speak  at  all,  and  his  face  was  in  com- 
plete shadow.  Nora  breathed  hard  in  suppressed  excite- 
ment and  delight.  Biddy  crouched  at  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  and  watched  the  clouds  as  they  came  up. 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  come,"  she  muttered  once  or  twice. 

The  boy  Mike  sat  at  the  stern.  The  two  girls  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do. 

"  Shall  I  take  an  oar,  Andy  ?"  said  Nora  at  last. 

"You,  miss?" 

"  I  can  take  a  pair  of  oars  and  help  you,"  said  the  girl. 

"  If  it  plazes  you,  miss."  The  man  hastily  stepped  to 
the  back  of  the  boat.  Nora  took  her  place,  and  soon  they 
were  going  at  greater  speed  than  ever.  She  was  a 
splendid  oarswoman,  and  feathered  her  oars  in  the  most 
approved  fashion. 

In  less  than  the  prescribed  half-hour  they  reached  the 
entrance  to  the  great  cave. 

They  were  safe.  A  hollow,  booming  noise  greeted 
them  as  they  came  close.  Andy  bent  forward  and  gave 
Nora  a  brief  direction. 

"  Ship  your  oars  now,  miss.  Aisy  now ;  aisy  now. 
Now,  then,  I'll  take  one  pull;  pull  your  left  oar  again. 
Now,  here  we  are." 

He  spoke  with  animation.  Nora  obeyed  him  implicitly. 
Thev  entered  the  shadow  of  the  cave,  and  the  next  instant 


44  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

found  themselves  in  complete  darkness.  The  boat 
bobbed  up  and  down  on  the  restless  water,  and  just  at 
that  instant  a  flash  of  vivid  lightning  illuminated  all  the 
outside  water,  followed  by  a  crashing  roar  of  thunder. 

"  The  storm  is  on  us ;  but,  thank  the  Almighty,  we're 
safe,"  said  Mike,  with  a  little  sob.  "  I  wish  to  goodness 
we  hadn't  come,  all  the  same." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Biddy;  "it  is  perfectly  awful 
being  in  a  cave  like  this.    What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Do  !"  said  Neil.  "  Hould  your  tongues  and  stay  aisy. 
Faix,  it's  the  Almighty  is  having  a  bit  of  a  talk ;  you  stay 
quiet  and  listen." 

The  four  oars  were  shipped  now,  and  the  boat  swayed 
restlessly  up  and  down. 

"Aren't  we  going  any  farther?"  said  Nora. 

"  Not  while  this  storm  lasts.  Oh,  for  goodness'  sake, 
Nora,  do  stay  quiet,"  said  Biddy. 

Andy  now  produced  out  of  his  pocket  a  box  of  matches 
and  a  candle.  He  struck  a  match,  applied  it  to  the  candle, 
and  the  next  moment  a  feeble  flame  shot  up.  It  was  com- 
paratively calm  within  the  cave. 

"  There !  that  will  light  us  a  bit,"  said  Andy.  "  The 
storm  won't  last  long.  It's  well  we  got  into  shelter.  Now, 
then,  we'll  do  fine." 

"  You  don't  think,"  said  Biddy,  in  a  terrified  tone,  "  that 
the  cave  will  be  be  crashed  in?" 

"  Glory  be  to  Heaven,  no,  miss — we  have  cheated  the 
storm  coming  here."  The  man  smiled  as  he  spoke,  show- 
ing bits  of  broken  teeth.  His  words  were  gentle  enough, 
but  his  whole  appearance  was  more  like  that  of  a  wild 
beast  than  a  man.  Nora  looked  full  at  him.  The  candle 
lit  up  her  pale  face ;  her  dark -blue  eyes  were  full  of  cour- 
age :  a  lock  of  her  black  hair  had  got  loose  in  the  exertion 
of  rowing,  and  had  fallen  partly  over  her  shoulder  and 


THE   CAVE   OF    THE  BANSHEE.  45 

neck.  "  Faix,  then,  you  might  be  the  Banshee  herself," 
said  Andy,  bending  forward  and  looking  at  her  atten- 
tively. 

"If  the  moon  comes  out  again  we  may  see  the  Ban- 
shee," whispered  Nora.  "Can  we  not  go  farther  into  the 
cave?  Time  is  flying."  She  took  her  watch  from  her 
pocket  and  looked  at  the  hour.  It  was  already  past  eleven 
o'clock. 

"  The  storm  will  be  over  in  good  time,"  said  the  man. 
"  Do  you  want  to  get  the  gleam  of  moonlight  in  the  crack 
of  the  inner  cave?     Is  that  what  you're  afther,  missy?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nora. 

"  Well,  you  stay  quiet ;  you'll  reach  it  right  enough." 

"  Nora  wants  to  see  the  Banshee,  Andy,"  called  out 
Biddy.     "  Oh,  what  a  flash !     It  nearly  blinded  me." 

"  The  rain  will  soon  be  on  us,  and  then  the  worst  of  the 
storm  will  be  past,"  said  the  man. 

Mike  uttered  a  scream ;  the  lightning  was  now  forked 
and  intensely  blue.  It  flashed  into  every  cranny  in  the 
cave,  showing  the  barnacles  on  the  roof,  the  little  bits  of 
fern,  the  strange  stalactites.  After  the  flash  had  passed, 
the  darkness  which  followed  was  so  intense  that  the  light 
of  the  dim  candle  could  scarcely  be  seen.  Presently  the 
rain  thundered  down  upon  the  bare  rock  above  with  a  tre- 
mendous sound ;  there  were  great  hailstones ;  the  thunder 
became  less  frequent,  the  lightning  less  vivid.  In  a  little 
more  than  half  an  hour  the  fierce  storm  had  swept  on  to 
other  quarters. 

"  Now,  then,  we  can  go  forward,"  said  Andy.  He  took 
up  his  oars.  "  You  had  best  stay  quiet,  missies ;  just  sit 
there  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  let  me  push  ahead." 

"  Then  I  will  hold  the  candle,"  said  Nora. 

"  Right  you  are,  miss." 

She  took  it  into  her  cold  fingers.     Her  heart  was  beat- 


46  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

ing  high  with  suppressed  excitement ;  she  had  never  felt 
a  keener  pleasure  in  her  life.  If  only  she  might  see  the 
Banshee,  and  implore  the  spirit's  intercession  for  the  for- 
tunes of  her  house ! 

The  man  rowed  on  carefully,  winding  round  corners 
and  avoiding  many  dangers.  At  last  they  came  bump 
upon  some  rocks. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  go  a  step  farther." 

"  But  we  must,"  said  Nora.  "  We  have  not  reached 
the  chasm  in  the  rock.    We  must." 

"  We  dare  not,  miss ;  the  boat  hasn't  water  enough  to 
float  her." 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  wade  there.  How  far  on  is  the 
chasm?  " 

"Oh,  Nora!  Nora!  you  won't  be  so  mad  as  to  go 
alone?  "  called  out  Biddy. 

"  I  shan't  be  a  scrap  afraid,"  said  Nora. 

"  But  there's  water  up  to  your  knees ;  you  dare  not  do 
it,"  said  Biddy. 

"  Yes,  I  dare;  and  the  tide  is  going  down — is  it  not?  " 

"  It  will  be  down  a  good  bit  in  half  an  hour,"  said  the 
man,  "  and  we'll  be  stranded  here  as  like  as  not.  These 
are  bad  rocks  when  the  tide  is  low ;  we  must  turn  and 
get  out  of  this,  miss,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  the 
farthest." 

"  Oh,  I  could  just  do  it  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said 
Nora. 

She  jumped  up,  and  the  next  moment  had  sprung  out 
of  the  boat  into  the  water,  which  nearly  reached  up  to  her 
knees.    " 

"  Oh,  Nora!  Nora!  you'll  be  lost;  you'll  slip  and  fall  in 
that  awful  darkness,  and  we'll  never  see  you  again,"  said 
Biddy,  with  a  cry  of  terror. 

"  No,  no ;  let  her  go,"  said  Andy.     "  There  ain't  no 


THE    CA  VE   OF    THE   BANSHEE.  47 

fear,  miss ;  you  have  but  to  go  straight  on,  holding  your 
candle  and  avoiding  the  rocks  to  your  left,  and  you'll  come 
to  the  opening.  Be  as  quick  as  you  can,  Miss  Nora ;  be 
as  quick  as  you  can." 

His  voice  had  a  queer  note  in  it.  Nora  gave  him  a  look 
of  gratitude,  and  proceeded  on  her  dangerous  journey. 
Her  one  fear  was  that  the  candle  might  go  out ;  the  flame 
flickered  as  the  air  got  less  good ;  the  hot  grease  scalded 
her  fingers ;  but  suddenly  a  breeze  of  fresher  air  reached 
her,  and  warned  her  that  she  was  approaching  the  aper- 
ture. There  came  a  little  puff  of  wind,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  brave  girl  found  herself  in  total  darkness.  The 
candle  had  gone  out.  Just  at  that  instant  she  heard,  or 
fancied  she  heard,  a  splash  behind  her  in  the  water. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  go  forward.  She  re- 
solved not  to  be  terrified.  Perhaps  it  was  a  water-rat; 
perhaps  it  was  the  Banshee.  Her  heart  beat  high ;  still 
she  had  no  fear.  She  was  going  to  plead  for  her  father. 
What  girl  would  be  terrified  with  such  a  cause  in  view? 
She  walked  slowly  and  carefully  on,  and  at  last  the  fresher 
air  was  followed  by  a  welcome  gleam  of  light;  she  was 
approaching  the  opening.  The  next  moment  she  had 
found  it.  She  stood  nearly  up  to  her  knees  in  the  water ; 
the  shaft  of  moonlight  was  piercing  down  into  the  cave. 
Nora  went  and  stood  in  the  moonlight.  The  hole  at  the 
top  was  little  more  than  a  foot  in  width;  there  was  a 
chasm,  a  jagged  chasm,  through  which  the  light  came. 
She  could  see  a  bit  of  cloudless  sky,  and  the  cold  moon- 
light fell  all  over  her. 

"Oh,  Banshee! — Lady  Spirit  who  belongs  to  our 
house,  come  and  speak  to  me,"  cried  the  girl.  "  Come 
from  your  home  m  the  rock  and  give  me  a  word  of  com- 
fort. A  dark  time  is  near,  and  we  implore  your  help. 
Come,   come,    Banshee — it   is   the   O'Shanaghgans   who 


48  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

want  you.  It  is  Nora  O'Shanaghgan  who  calls  you 
now." ' 

The  sound  of  a  laugh  came  from  the  darkness  behind 
her,  and  the  next  instant  the  startled  girl  saw  the  big  form 
of  Andy  Neil  approaching. 

"  Don't  you  be  frightened,  Miss  Nora,"  he  said.  "  I 
aint  the  Banshee,  but  I  am  as  good.  Faix,  now,  I  want 
to  say  something  to  you.  I  have  come  here  for  the  pur- 
pose. There !  don't  be  frightened.  I  won't  hurt  ye — not 
I ;  but  I  want  yez  to  promise  me  something." 

"  What  is  that?  "  said  Nora. 

"  I  have  come  here  for  the  purpose  She  aint  no  good." 
He  indicated  with  a  motion  of  his  thumb  the  distant  form 
of  Biddy  within  the  dark  recess  of  the  cave. 

"Does  Miss  Murphy  know  you  have  followed  me?" 
said  Nora. 

"  No,  she  don't  know  it;  she's  in  the  dark.  There's  the 
little  lad  Mike  will  look  after  her.  She  won't  do  nothing 
until  we  go  back." 

"  Oh,  I  did  want  to  see  the  Banshee !  " 

"  The  Banshee  may  come  or  not,"  said  the  man ;  "  but 
I  have  my  message  to  yez,  and  it  is  this :  If  you  don't  get 
Squire  O'Shanaghgan  to  let  me  keep  my  little  bit  of  land, 
and  to  see  that  I  aint  evicted,  why,  I'll — you're  a  bonny 
lass,  you're  as  purty  a  young  lady  as  I  ever  set  eyes  on, 
but  I'll  drownd  yez,  deep  down  here  in  this  hole.  No  one 
will  ever  know ;  they'll  think  you  has  fallen  and  got 
drowned  without  no  help  from  me.  Yes,  I'll  do  it — yes, 
I  will — unless  you  promises  that  Squire  O'Shanaghgan 
shan't  evict  me.  If  I  go  out,  why,  you  goes  out  first. 
Now,  you'll  do  it;  you'll  swear  that  you'll  do 'it?  You'll 
leave  no  stone  unturned.  You'll  get  'em  to  leave  me  my 
cabin  where  I  was  born,  and  the  childer  was  born,  and 
where  the  wife  died,  or  I'll  drownd  yez  deep  down  here  in 


THE  CAVE   OF   THE  BANSHEE,  49 

the  Banshee's  hole.  Look !  "  said  the  man  as  the  moon 
flickered  on  a  deep  pool  of  water ;  "  they  say  there  is  no 
bottom  to  it.  Just  one  shlip,  and  over  you  goes,  and  no- 
body will  ever  see  Nora  O'Shanaghgan  again." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  frightened ;  you  wouldn't  do  it, 
Andy,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Wouldn't  I  just?     You  think  that  I'd  be  afraid?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  am  sure  you  are  afraid  of  noth- 
ing." 

"  Then  why  shouldn't  I  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  you  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  not  to  an  innocent 
girl  who  never  harmed  you." 

"  Oh !  wouldn't  I  just?  Ain't  I  a-stharving,  and  aint 
the  childer  stharving,  and  why  should  they  turn  us  out  of 
our  bit  of  a  cabin?  Swear  you'll  do  it;  swear  you  won't 
have  me  evicted ;  you  has  got  to  promise." 

"  /  wouldn't  evict  you — never,  never !  "  said  Nora. 
"  Oh,  never!  "  she  added,  tears,  not  of  fright,  but  of  pity, 
filling  her  eyes.     "  But  how  can  I  control  my  father?  " 

"  That's  for  you  to  see  to,  missy ;  I  must  go  back  now, 
or  we'll  none  of  us  leave  this  cave  alive.  But  you'll  just 
shlip  into  that  water,  and  you'll  never  be  heard  of  again 
unless  you  promises.  I'll  go  back ;  they  none  of  'em  will 
know  I  followed  yez.  You'll  be  drowned  here  in  the  deep 
pool,  and  I'll  go  back  to  the  boat,  or  you  promises  and 
we  both  goes  back." 

"  But,  Andy,  what  am  I  to  promise  ?  " 

"  That  you  won't  have  me  evicted.  You  say  solemn 
here :  '  Andrew  Neil,  I  would  rather  die  myself  or  have 
my  tongue  cut  out,  and  may  the  Holy  Mother  cast  me 
from  her  presence  forever,  and  may  the  evil  spirits 
take  me,  if  I  don't  save  you,  Andy.'  You  has  to  say 
that." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Nora  with  sudden  spirit.     "  I  am 


5°  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

not  afraid.  I'll  do  my  very,  very  best  for  you;  but  I 
won't  say  words  like  those." 

The  man  looked  at  her  attentively. 

"  I  was  a  little  frightened  at  first,"  continued  Nora ; 
"  but  I  am  not  now.  I  would  rather  you  pushed  me  into 
that  pool,  I  would  rather  sink  and  die,  than  take  an  awful 
vow  like  that.  I  won't  take  it.  I'll  do  my  very  best  to 
save  you,  but  I  won't  make  a  vow." 

"  Faix,  then,  miss,  it's  you  that  has  the  courage ;  but 
now  if  I  let  yez  off  this  time,  will  ye  do  yer  best?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  my  best." 

"  If  yer  don't,  bonny  as  you  are,  and  the  light  of  some- 
body's eyes,  you'll  go  out  of  the  world.  But,  come,  I 
trust  yez,  and  we  must  be  turning  back." 

The  man  took  the  matches  from  his  pocket,  struck  one, 
and  lit  the  candle.  Then,  Andy  going  in  front  of  Nora, 
they  both  turned  in  the  direction  where  the  boat  was  wait- 
ing for  them. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  MURPHYS. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  in  the  morning  when  the 
girls  found  themselves  back  again  in  the  desolate  man- 
sion of  Cronane.  Biddy  had  left  a  window  open ;  they 
had  easily  got  in  by  it  and  gone  up  to  Biddy's  big  room  on 
the  first  floor.  They  were  to  sleep  together  in  Biddy's 
small  bed.  Personally,  discomforts  did  not  affect  them; 
they  had  never  been  accustomed  to  luxury,  and  rather 
liked  the  sense  of  hardship  than  otherwise. 

"  I  brought  up  a  bit  of  supper  beforehand,"  said  Biddy. 
"  I  am  real  hungry.  What  do  you  say  to  cold  bacon  and 
taters — eh?  I  went  down  to  the  larder  and  got  a  good 
few  early  this  morning.  I  put  them  in  the  cupboard  in  a 
brown  bowl  with  a  plate  over  it.  You're  hungry — aren't 
you,  Norrie  ?  " 

"  No,  not  very,"  answered  Nora. 

"  What's  come  to  you,  you're  so  quiet  ?  You  have  lost 
all  your  spirit.  I  thought  we  would  have  a  real  rolncking 
time  over  our  supper,  laughing  and  talking,  and  telling  our 
adventures.  Oh !  it  was  awful  in  that  cave ;  and  when 
you  were  away  talking  to  the  lady  Banshee  I  did  have  a 
time  of  it.  I  thought  that  awful  Andy  was  going  to  mur- 
der me.  I  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  he  was  getting  closer 
and  closer,  and  I  clutched  hold  of  little  Mike.  I  think  he 
was  a  bit  surprised  ;  I'll  give  him  a  penny  to-morrow,  poor 
gossoon.  But  aren't  you  hungTv,  and  won't  you  laugh, 
and  shan't  we  have  a  jolly  spree?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  eat  something,"  said  Nora ; 


52  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

"  and  I  am  a  little  cold,  too.  I  took  a  chill  standing"  so 
long  in  that  icy  water." 

"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !  it's  the  rheumatics  you'll  be  get- 
ting, and  then  you'll  lose  your  beautiful  straight  figure. 
I  must  rub  your  legs.  There,  sit  on  the  bed  and  I'll  be- 
gin." 

Nora  submitted  to  Biddy's  ministrations.  The  room 
was  lit  by  a  small  dip  candle,  which  was  placed  in  an  old 
tin  candlestick  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Dear,  dear !  the  light  will  be  coming  in  no  time,  and 
we  can  quench  the  glim  then,"  said  Biddy.  "  I've  got  to 
be  careful  about  candles.  We're  precious  short  of  every- 
thing at  Cronane  just  now.  We're  as  poor  as  church 
mice ;  it's  horrid  to  be  so  desperately  poor  as  that.  But, 
hurrah  for  the  cold  taters  and  bacon !  We'll  have  a  right 
good  meal.  That  will  warm  you  up ;  and  I  have  a  little 
potheen  in  a  black  bottle,  too.  I'll  put  some  water  to  it 
and  you  shall  have  a  drink." 

"  I  never  touch  it,"  said  Xora,  shuddering. 

"  But  you  must  to-night,  or  you'll  catch  your  death  of 
cold.  There,  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  get  right  into 
bed.  Why,  you're  shivering,  and  your  teeth  are  chatter- 
ing. It's  a  fine  state  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  will  be  in  to- 
morrow when  you  go  back  to  her." 

"  I  must  not  get  ill,  Biddy;  that  would  never  do,"  said 
Xora,  pulling  herself  together  with  an  effort.  "  Yes,  I'll 
get  into  bed ;  and  I'll  take  a  little  of  your  potheen — very, 
very  weak,  if  you'll  mix  it  for  me — and  I'll  have  some  of 
the  bacon  and  potatoes.  Oh!  I  would  eat  anything 
rather  than  be  ill.  I  never  was  really  ill  in  my  life;  but 
now,  of  all  times,  it  would  never  do." 

"  Well,  then,  here  you  go.  Tumble  into  bed.  I'll  pile 
the  blankets  on  you.     Now,  isn't  that  better?  " 

Biddy  bustled,  intent  on  hospitality.    She  propped  Nora 


THE  MURPHYS.  53 

up  with  pillows,  pulled  a  great  rug  over  her  shoulders, 
and  heaped  on  more  and  more  blankets,  which  she  pulled 
expeditiously  from  under  the  bed.  "  They  always  stay 
here  in  the  summer,"  said  Biddy.  "  That's  to  keep  them 
aired ;  and  now  they're  coming  in  very  handy.  You  have 
got  four  doubled  on  you  now ;  that  makes  eight.  I  should 
think  you'd  soon  be  warm  enough." 

"  I  expect  I  shall  soon  be  too  hot,"  said  Nora ;  "  but  this 
is  very  nice." 

She  sipped  the  potheen,  ate  a  little  bacon  and  cold  po- 
tatoes, and  presently  declared  herself  well  again. 

"  Oh,  I  am  perfectly  all  right !  "  she  said ;  "  it  was 
coming  home  in  the  boat  in  my  wet  things.  I  wish  I  had 
taken  a  pair  of  sculls  again;  then  I  wouldn't  even  have 
been  cold." 

"  Now  you'll  tell  me,"  said  Biddy,  who  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  munching  great  chunks  of  bacon  and  eating  her 
cold  potatoes  with  extreme  relish.  "  Oh !  it's  hungry  I 
am;  but  I  want  to  hear  all  about  the  lady  Banshee. 
Did  she  come  ?     Did  you  see  her,  Nora  ?  " 

"  No,  she  didn't  come,"  said  Nora  very  shortly. 

"  Didn't  come  ?  But  they  say  she  never  fails  when  the 
moon  is  at  the  full.  She  rises  up  out  of  that  pool — the 
bottomless  pool  it  is  called — and  she  floats  over  the  water 
and  waves  her  hand.  It's  awful  to  see  her  if  you  don't 
belong  to  her ;  but  to  those  who  belong  to  her  she  is  tender 
and  sweet,  like  a  mother,  they  say ;  and  her  breath  is  like 
honey,  and  her  kiss  the  sweetest  you  ever  got  in*all  your 
life.  You  mean  to  say  you  didn't  see  her?  Why,  Nora, 
what  has  come  to  you?     You're  trembling  again." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Biddy ;  don't  ask  me  any  more.  I 
didn't  see  the  Banshee.  It  was  very,  very  cold  standing 
up  to  my  knees  in  the  water.  I  suppose  I  did  wrong  to 
go ;  but  that's  done  and  over  now.     Oh,  I  am  so  tired  and 


54  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

sleepy !  Do  get  into  bed,  Biddy,  and  let  us  have  what 
little  rest  we  can." 

Early  the  next  morning  Nora  returned  to  O'Shanagh- 
gan.  All  trace  of  ill  effects  had  vanished  under  Biddy's 
prompt  treatment.  She  had  lain  under  her  eight  blan- 
kets until  she  found  them  intolerable,  had  then  tossed 
most  of  them  off,  and  fallen  into  deep  slumber.  In  the 
morning  she  looked  much  as  usual ;  but  no  entreaties  on 
the  part  of  Biddy,  joined  in  very  heartily  by  Squire  Mur- 
phy and  also  by  Mrs.  Murphy,  could  induce  her  to  prolong 
her  visit. 

"  It's  a  message  I'll  take  over  myself  to  your  father  if 
you'll  but  stay,  Nora,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  No,  no;  I  must  really  go  home,"  answered  Nora. 

"  It's  too  fine  you  are  for  us,  Nora,  and  that's  the 
truth ;  and  don't  go  for  to  be  denying  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Murphy. 

"No;  I  hope  I  may  never  be  too  fine  for  my  real 
friends,"  said  Nora  a  little  sadly.  "  I  must  go  back. 
I  believe  I  am  wanted  at  home." 

"  You're  a  very  conceited  colleen ;  there's  no  girl  that 
can't  be  spared  from  home  sometimes,"  said  Airs.  Murphy. 
"  I  thought  you  would  help  Biddy  and  me  to  pick  black 
currants.  There  are  quarts  and  quarts  of  'em  in  the  gar- 
den, and  the  maids  can't  do  it  by  themselves,  poor  things. 
Well,  Biddy,  you  have  got  to  help  me  to-day." 

"  Oh,  mammy,  I  just  can't,"  answered  Biddy.  "  I'm 
due  down  at  the  shore,  and  I  want  to  go  a  bit  of  the  way 
back  with  Nora.  You  cLn't  expect  me  to  help  you  to- 
day, mammy." 

"  There  she  is,  Nora — there  she  is!"  exclaimed  the 
good  lady,  her  face  growing  red  and  her  eyes  flashing 
fire ;  "  not  a  bit  of  good,  not  worth  her  keep,  I  tell  her. 
Why  shouldn't  she  stay  at  home  and  help  her  mother? 


THE   MURPHYS.  55 

Do  you  hear  me,  Squire  Murphy?     Give  your  orders  to 
the  girl ;  tell  her  to  stay  at  home  and  help  her  mother." 

"  Ah,   don't  be  bothering  me,"  said   Squire  Murphy. 

"  It's  out  I'm  going  now.     I  have  enough  on  my  own 

shoulders  without  attending  to  the  tittle-tattle  of  women." 

He  rose  from  the  table,  and  the  next  moment  had  left 

the  room. 

"  Dear,  dear !  there  are  bad  times  ahead  for  poor  Old 
Ireland,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy.  "  Children  don't  obey  their 
parents ;  husbands  don't  respect  their  wives ;  it's  a  queer 
state  of  the  country.  When  I  was  young,  and  lived  at 
my  own  home  in  Tipperary,  we  had  full  and  plenty. 
There  was  a  bite  and  a  sup  for  every  stranger  who  came 
to  the  door,  and  no  one  talked  of  money,  nor  thought  of  it 
neither.  The  land  yielded  a  good  crop,  and  the  potatoes 
— oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  that  was  before  the  famine.  The 
famine  brought  us  a  lot  of  bad  luck,  that  it  did." 

"  But  the  potatoes  have  been  much  better  the  last  few 
years,  and  this  year  they  say  we're  going  to  have  a  splen- 
did crop,"  said  Nora.  "  But  I  must  go  now,  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy.    Thank  you  so  much  for  asking  me." 

"  You're  looking  a  bit  pale ;  but  you're  a  beautiful  girl," 
said  the  good  woman  admiringly.  "  I'd  give  a  lot  if 
Biddy  could  change  places  with  you — that  is,  in  appear- 
ance, I  mean.  She's  not  a  credit  to  anybody,  with  her 
bumpy  forehead  and  her  cocked  nose,  and  her  rude  ways 
to  her  mother." 

"  Mammy,  I  really  cannot  help  the  way  I  am  made," 
said  Biddy ;  "  and  as  to  staying  in  this  lovely  day  picking 
black  currants  and  making  jam,  and  staining  my  fingers, 
it's  not  to  be  thought  of.  Come  along  out,  Nora.  If  you 
must  be  off  back  to  O'Shanaghgan,  I  mean  to  claim  the 
last  few  moments  of  your  stay  here." 

The  girls  spent  the  morning  together,  and  early  in  the 


56  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

afternoon  Nora  returned  to  O'Shanaghgan.    Terence  met 
her  as  she  was  driving  down  the  avenue. 

"  How  late  you  are !  "  he  said ;  "  and  you  have  got  great 
black  shadows  under  your  eyes.  You  know,  of  course, 
that  I  have  to  catch  the  early  train  in  the  morning?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  Terry ;  and  it  is  for  that  very  reason 
I  have  come  back  so  punctually.  I  want  to  pack  your 
things  my  own  self." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  good  girl.  You'll  find  most  of  them  laid 
out  on  the  bed.  Be  sure  you  see  that  all  my  handkerchiefs 
are  there — two  dozen — and  all  marked  with  my  initials." 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  so  many." 

"  Yes ;  mother  gave  me  a  dozen  at  Christmas,  and  I 
have  not  used  them  yet.  I  shall  want  every  bit  of  decent 
clothing  I  possess  for  my  visit  to  my  rich  Uncle  Hartrick." 

"  How  is  mother,  Terence?  " 

"  Mother?  Quite  well,  I  suppose;  she  is  fretting  a  bit 
at  my  going;  you'll  have  to  comfort  her.  The  place  is 
very  rough  for  her  just  now." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is  any  rougher  than  it  has  ever 
been,"  said  Nora  a  little  fiercely.  "  You're  always  running 
down  the  place,  Terry." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it.  I  hate  to  see  things  going  to  the 
dogs,"  said  the  young  man.  He  turned  on  his  heel, 
called  a  small  fox-terrier,  who  went  by  the  name  of  Snap, 
to  follow  him,  and  went  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
shore. 

Nora  whipped  up  her  pony  and  drove  on  to  the  house. 
Here  she  was  greeted  by  her  father.  He  was  standing 
on  the  steps;  and,  coming  down,  he  lifted  her  bodily  out 
of  the  dog-cart,  strained  her  to  his  heart,  and  looked  full 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Ah,  Light  o'  the  Morning,  I  have  missed  you,"  he 
said,  and  gave  a  great  sigh. 


THE  MURPHYS.  57 

The  girl  nestled  up  close  to  him.  She  was  trembling 
with  excess  of  feeling. 

"  And  I  have  missed  you,"  she  answered.  "  How  is  the 
mother?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  is  all  right,  Nora ;  but  there,  upon  my 
word,  she  does  vex  me  sometimes.  Take  the  horse  to  the 
stables,  and  don't  stand  staring  there,  Peter  Jones."  The 
Squire  said  these  latter  words  on  account  of  the  fixed 
stare  of  a  pair  of  bright  black  eyes  like  sloes  in  the  head 
of  the  little  chap  who  had  brought  the  trap  for  Nora.  He 
whipped  up  the  pony,  turned  briskly  round,  and  drove 
away. 

"  Come  out  for  a  bit  with  me  round  the  grounds,  Nora. 
It's  vexed  I  am,  sometimes ;  I  feel  I  cannot  stand  things. 
I  wish  my  lady  would  not  have  all  those  fine  airs.  But 
there,  I  have  no  right  to  talk  against  your  mother  to 
you,  child ;  and  of  course  she  is  your  mother,  and  I  am 
desperately  proud  of  her.  There  never  was  her  like  for 
beauty  and  stateliness ;  but  sometimes  she  tries  me." 

"  Oh  !  I  know,  father ;  I  know.  But  let's  go  round  and 
look  at  the  new  calf  and  the  colt.  We  can  spare  an  hour — 
can  we  not?  " 

"  Yes ;  come  along  quick,  Nora,"  answered  the  Squire, 
all  smiles  and  jokes  once  more.  "  The  mother  doesn't 
know  you  have  come  back,  and  we  can  have  a  pleasant 
hour  to  ourselves." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    SQUIRE'S    TROUBLE. 

Nora  and  her  father  went  slowly  down  a  shady  walk, 
which  led  in  the  direction  of  the  shore.  Soon  they  found 
themselves  in  a  hay-field.  The  crop  here  was  not  partic- 
ularly good.  The  hay  had  been  spoiled  by  rains,  which 
had  soaked  down  on  the  lands  a  fortnight  ago.  It  was 
stunted  in  height,  and  in  some  parts  had  that  impoverished 
appearance  which  is  so  painful  to  the  heart  of  the  good 
farmer. 

Squire  O'Shanaghgan,  notwithstanding  his  somewhat 
careless  ways,  was  really  a  capital  farmer.  He  had  the 
best  interests  of  the  land  at  heart,  and  did  his  utmost  to 
get  profit  out  of  his  many  acres.  He  now  shook  his  head 
over  the  hay-crop. 

"  It's  just  like  all  the  rest,  Norrie — everything  going  to 
ruin — the  whole  place  going  to  the  dogs ;  and  yet — and 
yet,  colleen,  it's  about  the  sweetest  bit  of  earth  in  all  God's 
world.  I  wouldn't  give  O'Shanaghgan  for  the  grandest 
place  in  the  whole  of  England ;  and  I  told  your  lady- 
mother  so  this  morning." 

"  Why  did  you  say  it,  father?    Had  mother  been " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  child — nothing;  the  old  grumbles.  But 
it's  her  way,  poor  dear ;  she  can't  help  herself ;  she  was 
born  so.  It's  not  to  be  expected  that  she  who  was  brought 
up  in  that  prim  land  over  yonder,  where  everything  is  cut 
and  dry,  and  no  one  ever  thinks  of  managing  anything  but 
by  the  rule  of  three,  would  take  to  our  wild  ways.  But 
there,  Norrie,  it's  the  freedom  of  the  life  that  suits  me; 

58 


THE   SQUIRE'S   TROUBLE.  59 

when  I  am  up  and  away  on  Black  Bess  or  on  Monarch, 
I  don't  think  there  is  a  happier  fellow  in  the  world.  But 
there,  when  I  come  face  to  face  with  money,  why,  I'm 
bothered — I'm  bothered  entirely,  child." 

"  Father,"  said  Nora,  "  won't  you  tell  me  what  is  wor- 
rying you  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  worried  about  anything, 
colleen?  " 

"  How  do  I  know,  father  ?  "  answered  Nora  a  little  play- 
fully. She  turned  and  faced  him.  "  I  know,"  she  said ; 
"  that  is  enough ;  you  are  worried.    What  is  it?  " 

The  Squire  looked  at  her  attentively.  He  was  much 
the  taller  of  the  two,  and  his  furrowed  face  seemed  to 
the  girl,  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  like  a  great  rock  rising 
above  her.  She  was  wont  to  sun  herself  in  his  smile, 
and  to  look  to  him  always  as  a  sure  refuge  in  any  per- 
plexity. She  did  not  love  anyone  in  the  whole  world  as 
she  loved  her  father.  His  manliness  appealed  to  her ;  his 
generous  ways  suited  her;  but,  above  all  these  things,  he 
was  her  father ;  he  was  Irish  to  his  backbone,  and  so  wras 
she. 

"  You  must  tell  me,"  she  said.  "  Something  is  troubling 
you,  and  Nora  has  to  know." 

"  Ah,  my  Light  o'  the  Morning !  what  would  I  do  with- 
out you  ?  "  answered  the  Squire. 

"  Prove  that  you  trust  me,"  said  Nora,  "  and  tell  me 
what  worries  you." 

"  Well,  Nora,  you  cannot  understand ;  and  yet  if  you 
could  it  would  be  a  relief  to  unburden  my  mind.  But  you 
know  nothing  about  mortgages — do  you,  little  woman  ?  " 

"  More  than  you  think,"  said  Nora.  "  I  am  not  a  child 
— I  am  nearly  seventeen ;  and  I  have  not  lived  at  O'Shan- 
aghgan  all  my  life  for  nothing.  Of  course  we  are  poor! 
I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  be  rich," 


60  LIGHT  &    THE  MORNING. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  I  want 
to  forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  money.  If  it  were 
not  for  money  I  would  say  to  myself,  '  There's  not  a  bet- 
ter lot  than  mine.'  What  air  we  have  here !  "  He  opened 
his  mouth  and  took  in  a  great  breath  of  the  pure  At- 
lantic breezes.  "  What  a  place  it  is !  Look  at  the  beauty 
of  it !  Look  round,  Norrie,  and  see  for  yourself ;  the 
mountains  over  there ;  and  the  water  rolling  up  almost  to 
our  doors ;  and  the  grand  roar  of  the  waves  in  our  ears ; 
and  those  trees  yonder ;  and  this  field  with  the  sun  on  it ; 
and  the  house,  though  it  is  a  bit  of  a  barrack,  yet  it  is 
where  my  forebears  were  born.  Oh,  it's  the  best  place 
on  earth  ;  it's  O'Shanaghgan,  and  it's  mine !  There,  Nora, 
there ;  I  can't  stand  it !  " 

The  Squire  dashed  his  hand  to  his  brow.  Nora  looked 
up  at  him ;  she  was  feeling  the  exposure  and  excitement 
of  last  night.  Her  pallor  suddenly  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  colleen?  "  he  said. 
"  Are  you  well — are  you  sure  you're  well  ?  " 

"  Absolutely,  perfectly  well,  father.  Go  on — tell 
me  all." 

"  Well,  you  know,  child,  when  I  came  in  for  the  estate 
it  was  not  to  say  free." 

"What  does  that  mean,   father?" 

"  It  was  my  father  before  me — your  grandfather — the 
best  hunter  in  the  county.  He  could  take  his  bottle  oi 
port  and  never  turn  a  hair ;  and  he  rode  to  hounds !  God 
bless  you,  Nora !  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  your  grand- 
father riding  to  hounds.  It  was  a  sight  to  remember. 
Well,  he  died — God  bless  him ! — and  there  were  difficul- 
ties. Before  he  died  those  difficulties  began,  and  he  mort- 
gaged some  of  the  outer  fields  and  Knock  Robin  Farm — 
the  best  farm  on  the  whole  estate ;  but  I  didn't  think  any- 


THE  SQUIRE'S   TROUBLE.  61 

thing  of  that.  I  thought  I  could  redeem  it;  but  some- 
how, child,  somehow  rents  have  been  going  down;  the 
poor  folk  can't  pay,  and  I'm  the  last  to  press  them;  and 
things  have  got  worse  and  worse.  I  had  a  tight  time  of 
it  five  years  ago;  I  was  all  but  done  for.  It  was  partly 
the  fact  of  the  famine ;  we  none  of  us  ever  got  over  that — 
none  of  us  in  this  part  of  Ireland,  and  many  of  the  peo- 
ple went  away.  Half  the  cabins  were  deserted.  There's 
half  a  mile  of  'em  down  yonder ;  every  single  one  had  a 
dead  man  or  woman  in  it  at  the  time  of  the  famine,  and 
now  they're  empty.  Well  of  course,  you  know  all  about 
that?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  father ;  Hannah  has  told  me  of  the  famine 
many,  many  times." 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure;  but  it  is  a  dark  subject,  and 
not  fit  for  a  pretty  young  thing  like  you.  But  there,  let 
me  go  on.  It  was  five  years  ago  I  mortgaged  some  of  the 
place,  a  good  bit,  to  my  old  friend  Dan  Murphy.  He  lent 
me  ten  thousand  pounds — not  a  penny  more,  I  assure  you. 
It  just  tided  me  over,  and  I  thought,  of  course,  I'd  pay 
him  back,  interest  and  all,  by  easy  stages.  It  seemed  so 
easy  to  mortgage  the  place  to  Murphy,  and  there  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done." 

The  Squire  had  been  walking  slowly;  now  he  stopped, 
dropped  Nora's  hand  from  his  arm,  and  faced  her. 

"  It  seemed  so  easy  to  mortgage  the  land  to  Dan  Mur- 
phy," he  said,  dropping  his  voice,  "  so  very  easy,  and  that 
money  was  so  handy,  and  I  thought " 

"Yes,  father?"  said  Nora  in  a  voice  of  fear.  "You 
said  these  words  before.    Go  on — it  was  so  easy.    Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  month  ago,  child,  I  got  a  letter  from  Mur- 
phy's lawyer  in  Dublin,  to  say  that  the  money  must  be 
paid  up,  or  they  would  foreclose." 

"Foreclose,  father.    What  is  that?" 


62  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

"  Take  possession,  child — take  possession." 

"  A  month  ago  you  got  that  letter  ?  They  would  take 
possession — possession  of  the  land  you  have  mortgaged. 
Does  that  mean  that  it  would  belong  to  Squire  Murphy, 
father?" 

"  So  I  thought,  my  dear  colleen,  and  I  didn't  fret  much. 
The  fact  is,  I  put  the  letter  in  the  fire  and  forgot  it.  It 
was  only  three  days  ago  that  I  got  another  letter  to  know 
what  I  meant  to  do.  I  was  given  three  months  to  pay  in, 
and  if  I  didn't  pay  up  the  whole  ten  thousand,  with  thefc 
five  years'  interest,  they'd  foreclose.  I  hadn't  paid  that, 
Nora ;  I  hadn't  paid  a  penny  of  it ;  and  what  with  interest 
and  compound  interest,  it  mounted  to  a  good  round  sum. 
Dan  charged  me  six  per  cent,  on  the  money ;  but  there, 
you  don't  understand  figures,  child,  and  your  pretty  head 
shan't  be  worried.  Anyhow,  I  was  to  pay  it  all  up  within 
the  three  months — I,  who  haven't  even  fifty  pounds  in  the 
bank.    It  was  a  bit  of  a  staggerer." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Nora ;  "  and  that  was  why  you 
went  the  day  before  yesterday  to  see  Squire  Murphy.  Of 
course,  he'll  give  you  time ;  though,  now  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  he  is  very  poor  himself." 

"  He  is  that,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I  don't  blame  him 
— not  a  bit." 

"  But  what  will  you  do,  father?" 

"  I  must  think.  It  is  a  bit  of  a  blow,  my  child,  and  I 
don't  quite  see  my  way.  But  I  am  sure  to,  before  the 
time  comes ;  and  I  have  got  three  months." 

"  But  won't  he  let  you  off,  father  ?  Must  you  really  pay 
it  in  three  months?  " 

"God  help  me,  Norrie !  I  can't,  not  just  now;  but  I 
will  before  the  time  comes." 

"  But  what  did  he  say,  father?    I  don't  understand." 

"  It's  this,  Nora.     Ah,  you  have  a  wise  little  head  on 


THE   SQUIRE'S   TROUBLE.  6$ 

your  shoulders,  even  though  you  are  an  Irish  colleen.  He 
said  that  he  had  sold  my  mortgage  to  another  man,  and 
had  got  money  on  it ;  and  the  other  man — he  is  an  Eng- 
lishman, curse  him ! — and  he  wants  the  place,  Nora,  and 
he'll  take  it  in  lieu  of  the  mortgage  if  I  don't  pay  up  in 
three  months." 

"The  place,"  said  Nora;  "  O'Shanaghgan — he  wants 
O'Shanaghgan?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that's  it ;  he  wants  the  land,  and  the  old 
house." 

"  But  he  can't,"  said  Nora.  "  You  have  not — oh !  you 
have  not  mortgaged  the  house?  " 

"  Bless  you,  Nora !  it  is  I  that  have  done  it ;  the  house 
that  you  were  born  in,  and  that  my  father,  and  father  be- 
fore him,  and  father  before  him  again,  were  born  in,  and 
that  I  was  born  in — it  goes,  and  the  land  goes,  the  lake 
yonder,  all  these  fields,  and  the  bit  of  the  shore ;  all  the 
bonny  place  goes  in  three  months  if  we  cannot  pay  the 
mortgage.  It  goes  for  an  old  song,  and  it  breaks  my 
heart,  Nora." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Nora  very  gravely.  She  did  not 
cry  out;  the  tears  pressed  close  to  the  back  of  her  eyes, 
and  scalded  her  with  cruel  pain ;  but  she  would  not  allow 
one  of  them  to  flow.  She  held  her  head  very  erect,  and 
the  color  returned  to  her  pale  cheeks,  and  a  new  light 
shone  in  her  dark-blue  eyes. 

"  We'll  manage  somehow ;  we  must,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Of  course 
we'll  manage."  He  gave  a  great  sigh,  as  if  a  load  were 
lifted  from  his  heart.  "  Of  course  we'll  manage,"  he  re- 
peated ;  "  and  don't  you  tell  your  mother,  for  the  life  of 
you,  child." 

"  Of  course  I  will  tell  nothing  until  you  give  me  leave. 
But  how  do  you  mean  to  manage  ?  " 


64  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  going  up  to  Dublin  next  week  to  see 
one  or  two  old  friends  of  mine ;  they  are  sure  to  help  me 
at  a  pinch  like  this.  They  would  never  see  Patrick  O'Shan- 
aghgan  deprived  of  his  acres.  They  know  me  too  well ; 
they  know  it  would  break  my  heart.  I  was  thinking  of 
going  up  next  week." 

"  But  why  next  week,  father?  You  have  only  three 
months.    Why  do  you  put  it  off  to  next  week  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,  you're  right,  colleen ;  but  it's  a  job  I  don't 
fancy." 

"  But  you  have  got  to  do  it,  and  you  ought  to  do  it  at 
once." 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure." 

"  Take  me  with  you,  father ;  let  us  go  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  have  not  got  money  for  us  both.  I  must  go 
alone ;  and  then  your  mother  must  not  be  left.  There's 
Terence  gallivanting  off  to  England  to  visit  his  fine  rela- 
tions, and  that  will  take  a  good  bit.  I  had  to  give  him  ten 
pounds  this  morning,  and  there  are  only  forty  now  left 
in  the  bank.  Oh,  plenty  to  tide  us  for  a  bit.  We  shan't 
want  to  eat  much ;  and  there's  a  good  supply  of  fruit  and 
vegetables  on  the  land ;  and  the  poor  folk  will  wait  for 
their  wages.  Of  course  there  will  be  more  rents  coming 
in,  and  we'll  scrape  along  somehow.  Don't  you  fret, 
colleen.  I  declare  it's  light  as  a  feather  my  heart  is  since 
I  told  you  the  truth.    You  are  a  comfort  to  me,  Norrie." 

"  Father,"  said  Nora  suddenly,  "  there's  one  thing  I 
want  to  say." 

"What  is  that,  pet?" 

"You  know  Andy  Neil?" 

"  What !  Andrew  Neil — that  scoundrel  ?  "  The  Squire's 
brow  grew  very  black.  "Yes,  yes.  What  about  him? 
You  have  not  seen  him,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  I  have." 


THE   SQUIRE'S   TROUBLE.  65 

"  Over  at  Murphy's  ?  He  knew  he  dare  not  show  his 
face  here.     Well,  what  about  him,  Nora?" 

"This,"  said  Nora,  trembling  very  much;  "he — he 
does  not  want  you  to  evict  him." 

"  He'll  pay  his  rent,  or  he'll  go,"  thundered  the  Squire. 
"  No  more  of  this  at  present.    I  can't  be  worried." 

"  But,  oh,  father !  he — he  can't  pay  it  any  more  than 
you  can  pay  the  mortgage.  Don't  be  cruel  to  him  if  you 
want  to  be  dealt  with  mercifully  yourself;  it  would  be 
such  bad  luck." 

"  Good  gracious,  Nora,  are  you  demented  ?  The  man 
pays  his  rent,  or  he  goes.    Not  another  word." 

"  Father,  dear  father !  " 

"  Not  another  word.  Go  in  and  see  your  mother,  or 
she'll  be  wondering  what  has  happened  to  you.  Yes,  I'll 
go  off  to  Dublin  to-morrow.  If  Neil  doesn't  pay  up  his 
rent  in  a  week,  off  he  goes ;  it's  men  like  Andrew  Neil 
who  are  the  scum  of  the  earth.  He  has  put  my  back  up; 
and  pay  his  rent  he  will,  or  out  he  goes." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EDUCATION   AND  OTHER  THINGS. 

The  next  day  the  Squire  and  Terence  went  off  together. 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  very  angry  with  her  husband 
for  going,  as  she  expressed  it,  to  amuse  himself  in  Dublin. 
Dirty  Dublin  she  was  fond  of  calling  the  capital  of  Ire- 
land. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  go  to  Dirty  Dublin  for?  "  she 
said.  "  You'll  spend  a  lot  of  money,  and  God  knows  we 
have  little  enough  at  the  present  moment." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't,  Ellen,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  be  as  care- 
ful as  careful  can  be;  the  colleen  can  witness  to  that. 
There's  a  little  inn  on  the  banks  of  the  Liffey  where  I'll 
put  up ;  it  is  called  the  '  Green  Dragon/  and  it's  a  cozy, 
snug  little  place,  where  you  can  have  your  potheen  and 
nobody  be  any  the  wiser." 

"  I  declare,  Patrick,"  said  his  lady,  facing  him,  "  you 
are  becoming  downright  vulgar.  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  in  that  way.  If  you  have  no  respect  for  yourself  and 
your  ancient  family,  you  ought  to  remember  your 
daughter." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  not  doing  the  colleen  any  harm,"  said 
the  Squire. 

"  That  you  never  could,  father,"  replied  Nora,  with  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  surveyed  her  coldly. 

"  Go  upstairs  and  help  Terence  to  pack  his  things," 
she  said ;  and  Nora  left  the  room. 

The  next  day  the  travelers  departed.    As  soon  as  they 

66 


EDUCATION  AND   OTHER    THINGS.  67 

were  gone  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  sent  for  Nora  to  come 
and  sit  in  the  room  with  her. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  during  the  night  how  terribly 
neglected  you  are,"  she  said ;  "  you  are  not  getting  the 
education  which  a  girl  in  your  position  ought  to  receive. 
You  learn  nothing  now." 

"  Oh,  mother,  my  education  is  supposed  to  be  finished," 
answered  Nora. 

"  Finished  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  Since  Miss  Freeman  left  I  have  had  no  governess : 
but  I  read  a  good  bit  alone.  I  am  very  fond  of  reading,'-' 
answered  Nora. 

"  Distasteful  as  it  all  is  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan, "  I  must  take  you  in  hand  myself.  But  I  do  wish 
your  Uncle  George  would  invite  you  over  to  stay  with 
them  at  The  Laurels.  It  will  do  Terence  a  wonderful 
lot  of  good ;  but  you  want  it  more,  you  are  so  unkempt 
and  undignified.  You  would  be  a  fairly  nice-looking  girl 
if  any  justice  was  done  to  you ;  but  really  the  other  day, 
when  I  saw  you  with  that  terrible  young  person  Bridget 
Murphy,  it  gave  my  heart  quite  a  pang.  You  scarcely 
looked  a  lady,  you  were  laughing  in  such  a  vulgar  way, 
and  quite  forgetting  your  deportment.  Now,  what  I  have 
been  thinking  is  that  we  might  spend  some  hours  together 
daily,  and  I  would  mark  out  a  course  of  instruction  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  mammy,"  answered  Nora,  "  I  should  be  very  glad 
indeed  to  learn ;  you  know  I  always  hated  having  my  edu- 
cation stopped,  but  father  said " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  what  your  father  said,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  Oh,  but,  mother  dear,  I  really  must  think  of  father, 
and  I  must  respect  what  he  says.  He  told  me  that  my 
grandmother  stopped  her  schooling  at  fourteen,  and  he 


68  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

said  she  was  the  grandest  lady,  and  the  finest  and  bon- 
niest, in  the  country,  and  that  no  one  could  ever  put  her 
to  shame;  for,  although  she  had  not  much  learning  to 
boast  of,  she  had  a  smart  answer  for  every  single  thing 
that  was  said  to  her.  He  said  you  never  could  catch  her 
tripping  in  her  words,  never — never;  and  he  thinks, 
mother,"  continued  Nora,  sparkling  and  blushing,  "  that 
I  am  a  little  like  my  grandmother.  There  is  her  miniature 
upstairs.  I  should  like  to  be  like  her.  Father  did  love 
her  so  very,  very  much." 

"  Of  course,  Nora,  if  those  are  your  tastes,  I  have  noth- 
ing further  to  say,"  answered  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan ;  "  but 
while  you  are  under  my  roof  and  under  my  tuition,  I 
shall  insist  on  your  doing  a  couple  of  hours'  good  reading 
daily." 

"  Very  well,  mother ;  I  am  quite  agreeable." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  quite  forgotten  your  music?" 

"  No,  I  remember  it,  and  I  should  like  to  play  very  much 
indeed ;  but  the  old  piano — you  must  know  yourself, 
mother  dear,  that  it  is  impossible  to  get  any  music  out 
of  it." 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  uttered  a  groan. 

"  We  seem  to  be  beset  with  difficulties  at  every  step," 
she  said.  "  It  is  such  a  mistake  your  father  going  to  Dub- 
lin now,  and  throwing  away  his  little  capital.  Has  he 
said  anything  to  you  about  the  mortgage,  by  the  way, 
Nora?" 

Xora  colored. 

"  A  little,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ah,  I  see — told  it  as  a  secret ;  so  like  the  Irish,  making 
mysteries  about  everything,  and  then  blabbing  them  out 
the  next  minute.  I  don't  want,  my  dear,  to  encroach  upon 
vour  father's  secrets,  so  don't  be  at  all  afraid.  Now, 
bring  down  your   Markham's  History  of  England  and 


EDUCATION  AND   OTHER    THINGS.  69 

Alison's  History  of  Europe,  and  I  will  set  you  a  task  to 
prepare  for  me  for  to-morrow." 

Nora  went  slowly  out  of  the  room.  She  hated  Mark- 
ham's  History  of  England.  She  had  read  it  five  or  six 
times,  and  knew  it  by  heart.  She  detested  George  and 
Richard  and  Mary,  and  their  conversations  with  their 
mother  were  simply  loathsome  to  her.  Alison's  History, 
however,  was  tougher  metal,  and  she  thought  she  would 
enjoy  a  good  stiff  reading  of  it.  She  was  a  very  intelli- 
gent girl,  and  with  advantages  would  have  done  well. 

She  returned  with  the  books.  Her  mother  carelessly 
marked  about  twenty  pages  in  each,  told  her  to  read  them 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  to  come  to  her  the  next 
morning  to  be  questioned. 

"  You  can  go  now,"  she  said.  "  I  was  very  busy  yes- 
terday, and  have  a  headache.  I  shall  lie  down  and  go  to 
sleep." 

"  Shall  I  draw  down  the  blind,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  please ;  and  you  can  put  that  rug  over  me.  Now, 
don't  run  shouting  all  over  the  house;  try  to  remember 
you  are  a  young  lady.  Really  and  truly,  no  one  would 
suppose  that  you  and  Terence  were  brother  and  sister. 
He  will  do  great  credit  to  my  brother  George;  he  will 
be  proud  of  such  a  handsome  young  fellow  as  his  nephew." 

Nora  said  nothing;  having  attended  to  her  mother's 
comforts,'  she  left  the  room.  She  went  out  into  the  sun- 
shine. In  her  hand  she  carried  the  two  books.  Her  first 
intention  was  to  take  them  down  to  one  end  of  the  dilap- 
idated garden  and  read  them  steadily.  She  was  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  at  her  mother's  sudden  and  un- 
looked-for solicitude  with  regard  to  her  education.  She 
thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  learn  even  under  her 
mother's  rather  peculiar  method  of  tutelage;  but,  as  she 
stood  on  the  terrace  looking  across  the  exquisite  summer 


7©  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

scene,  two  of  the  dogs,  Creena  and  Cushla,  came  into 
view.  They  rushed  up  to  Nora  with  cries  and  barks  of 
welcome.  Down  went  the  books  on  the  gravel,  and  off 
ran  the  Irish  girl,  followed  by  the  two  barking  dogs.  A 
few  moments  later  she  was  down  on  the  shore.  She  had 
run  out  without  her  hat  or  parasol.  What  did  that  mat- 
ter ?  The  winds  and  sea-breezes  had  long  ago  taken  their 
own  sweet  will  on  Nora's  Irish  complexion ;  they  could 
not  tan  skin  like  hers,  and  had  given  up  trying;  they 
could  only  bring  brighter  roses  into  her  cheeks  and  more 
sweetness  into  her  dark-blue  eyes.  She  forgot  her  trou- 
bles, as  most  Irish  girls  will  when  anything  calls  off  their 
attention,  and  ran  races  with  the  dogs  up  and  down  the 
shore.  Nora  was  laughing,  and  the  dogs  were  barking 
and  gamboling  round  her,  when  the  stunted  form  of  Han- 
nah Croneen  was  seen  approaching.  Hannah  wore  her 
bedgown  and  her  short  blue  serge  petticoat ;  her  legs  and 
feet  were  bare ;  the  breezes  had  caught  up  her  short  gray 
locks,  and  were  tossing  them  wildly  about.  She  looked 
very  elfin  and  queer  as  she  approached  the  girl. 

"  Why,  then,  Miss  Nora,  it's  a  word  I  want  with  you, 
a-colleen." 

"  Yes — what  is  it,  Hannah  ?  "  answered  Nora.  She 
dropped  her  hands  to  her  sides  and  turned  her  laughing, 
radiant  face  upon  the  little  woman. 

"  Ah,  then,  it's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  you  are,  Miss 
Nora.  WThy,  it  is  a  beauty  you  are,  Miss  Nora  honey, 
and  hondsomer  and  hondsomer  you  gets  every  time  I  see 
yez.  It's  the  truth  I'm  a-telling  yez,  Miss  Nora;  it's  the 
honest  truth." 

"  I  hope  it  is,  Hannah,  for  it  is  very  pleasant  hearing," 
answered  Nora.  "  Do  I  really  get  handsomer  and  hand- 
somer?   I  must  be  a  beauty  like  my  grandmother." 

"  Ah,  she  was  a  lady  to  worship,"  replied   Hannah, 


EDUCATION  AND   OTHER    THINGS.  7 1 

dropping  a  courtesy  to  the  memory ;  such  ways  as  she  had, 
and  her  eyes  as  blue  and  dark  as  the  blessed  night  when 
the  moon's  at  the  full,  just  for  all  the  world  like  your 
very  own.  Why,  you're  the  mortal  image  of  her;  not  a 
doubt  of  it,  miss,  not  a  doubt  of  it.  But  there,  I  want  to 
say  a  word  to  yez,  and  we  need  not  spend  time  talking 
about  nothing  but  mere  looks.  Looks  is  passing,  miss ; 
they  goes  by  and  leaves  yez  withered  up,  and  there  are 
other  things  to  think  of  this  blessed  morning." 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  Nora. 

"  And  it's  I  that  forgot  to  wish  yez  the  top  of  the 
morning,"  continued  the  little  woman.  "  I  hear  the 
masther  and  Masther  Terry  has  gone  to  foreign  parts — 
is  it  true,  miss  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  true  of  my  father,"  replied  Nora ;  "  he  has 
only  gone  to  Dublin." 

"  Ah,  bless  him !  he's  one  in  a  thousand,  is  the  Squire," 
said  Hannah.  "  But  what  about  the  young  masther,  him 
with  the  handsome  face  and  the  ways? — aye,  but  he  aint 
got  your  nice,  bonny  Irish  ways,  Miss  Nora — no,  that 
he  aint." 

"  He  has  gone  to  England  for  a  time  to  visit  some  of 
my  mother's  relations,"  replied  Nora.  "  I  am.  sure  it  will 
do  him  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  dear  mother  is  so  pleased. 
Now,  then,  Hannah,  what  is  it  ?  " 

Hannah  went  close  to  the  girl  and  touched  her  on  her 
arm. 

"  What  about  your  promise  to  Andy  Neil  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  My  promise  to  Andy  Neil,"  said  Nora,  starting  and 
turning  pale.     "  How  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  A  little  bird  told  me,"  replied  Hannah.  "  This  is 
what  it  said :  '  Find  out  if  Miss  Nora,  the  bonniest  and 
handsomest  young  lady  in  the  place,  has  kept  her  word 
to  Andy.'     Have  you  done  it,  Miss  Nora?  for  it's  word 


7 2  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORXJNG. 

I  have  got  to  take  the  crayther,  and  this  very  night, 
too." 

"  Where?  "  said  Nora.  "  Where  are  you  going  to  meet 
him?  " 

"  In  the  haunted  glen,  just  by  the  Druid's  Stone,"  re- 
plied the  woman. 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  Tin  o'clock,  deary.  Aw,  glory  be  to  God!  it's  just 
when  the  clock  strikes  tin  that  he'll  be  waiting  for  me 
there." 

"  I  have  no  message,"  said  Nora. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Miss  Nora  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  When  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Miss  Nora,  you  don't  mane  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Hannah.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Andy 
Neil.  I  did  what  I  could  for  him,  but  that  little  failed. 
You  can  tell  him  that  if  you  like." 

"But  is  it  in  earnest  you  are,  Miss  Nora?  Do  you 
mane  to  say  that  you'll  let  the  poor  crayther  have  the 
roof  taken  off  his  cabin  ?    Do  you  mane  it  miss  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  the  roof  taken  off  his  cabin,"  said 
Nora ;  "  but  father  is  away,  and  he  is  Andy's  landlord, 
and  Andy  has  done  something  to  displease  him.  He  had 
better  come  and  talk  to  father  himself.  I  kept  my  word, 
and  spoke ;  but  I  couldn't  do  anything.  Andy  had  better 
talk  to  father  himself;  I  can  do  no  more." 

"  You  don't  guess  as  it's  black  rage  is  in  the  crayther's 
heart,  and  that  there's  no  crime  he  wouldn't  stoop  to," 
whispered  Hannah  in  a  low,  awestruck  voice. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Hannah ;  I  am  not  going  to  be  fright- 
ened. Andy  would  not  really  injure  me,  not  in  cold 
blood." 


EDUCATION  AND    OTHER    THINGS.  73 

"  Oh,  wouldn't  he  just?  The  man's  heart  is  hot  within 
him ;  it's  the  thought  of  the  roof  being  taken  off  his  cabin. 
I  have  come  as  his  messenger.  You  had  best  send  some 
sort  of  message  to  keep  him  on  the  quiet  for  a  bit.  Don't 
you  send  a  hard  message  of  that  sort,  heart  asthore ;  you'll 
do  a  sight  of  mischief  if  you  do." 

"  I  can  only  send  him  a  true  message,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Whisht  now,  Miss  Nora  !  You  wouldn't  come  and  see 
him  yourself  to-night  by  the  Druid's  Stone?  " 

Nora  stood  for  a  moment  considering.  She  was  not 
frightened ;  she  had  never  known  that  quality.  Even  in 
the  cave,  when  her  danger  was  extreme,  she  had  not  suc- 
cumbed to  fear ;  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  feel  it  now, 
with  the  sunlight  filling  her  eyes  and  the  softest  of  sum- 
mer breezes  blowing  against  her  cheeks.  She  looked  full 
at  Hannah. 

"  I  won't  go,"  she  said  shortly. 

"  Miss  Nora,  I  wouldn't  ask  yez  if  I  could  help  myself. 
It's  bothered  I  am  entirely,  and  frightened  too.  You'll 
come  with  me,  Miss  Nora — won't  yez  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  come,"  answered  Nora.  "  My  mother  is 
alone,  and  I  cannot  leave  her;  but  I  tell  you  what  I  will 
do.  Just  to  show  Andy  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  him,  when 
father  returns  I  will  come.  Father  will  be  back  in  a  couple 
of  days ;  when  he  returns  I  will  speak  to  him  once  more 
about  Andy,  and  I  will  bring  Andy  the  message ;  and  that 
is  all  I  can  promise.  If  that  is  all  you  want  to  say  to  me, 
Hannah,  I  will  go  home  now,  for  mother  is  all  alone." 

Hannah  stood  with  her  little,  squat  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  sky;  she  had  placed  both  her  arms  akimbo, 
and  was  gazing  at  Nora  with  a  half-comical,  half-fright- 
ened glance. 

"  You're  a  beauty,"  she  said,  "  and  you  has  the  courage 
of  ten  women.     I'll  tell  Andy  what  you  say;  but,  oh, 


74  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

glory !  there's  mischief  in  that  man's  eyes,  or  I'm  much 
mistook." 

"  You  can't  frighten  me,"  said  Nora,  with  a  laugh. 
"How  are  the  children?" 

"  Oh,  bless  yez,  they're  as  well  and  bonny  as  can  be. 
Little  Mike,  he  said  he'd  stand  and  wait  till  you  passed 
by  the  gate,  he's  that  took  up  with  you,  Miss  Nora.  You'd 
be  concaited  if  you  heard  all  he  says  about  you." 

Nora  thrust  her  hand  into  her  pocket. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  "  is  a  bright  halfpenny ;  give  it  to 
Mike,  and  tell  him  that  Nora  loves  him  very  much.  And 
now  I  am  going  home.  Hannah,  you'll  remember  my 
message  to  Andy,  and  please  let  him  understand  that  he 
is  not  going  to  frighten  me  into  doing  anything  I  don't 
think  right." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  INVITATION. 

Squire  O'Shanaghgan  came  home  in  a  couple  of  days. 
He  entered  the  house  in  noisy  fashion,  and  appeared  to  be 
quite  cheerful.  He  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  Dublin, 
and  talked  much  of  his  old  friends  during  the  evening 
that  followed.  Nora,  however,  try  as  she  would,  could 
never  meet  his  eye,  and  she  guessed,  even  before  he  told 
her,  that  his  mission  had  been  a  failure.  It  was  early  the 
next  morning  that  he  gave  her  this  information. 

"  I  tried  them,  one  and  all,  colleen,"  he  said,  "  and  never 
were  fellows  more  taken  aback.  Ts  it  you  to  lose  your 
property,  O'Shanaghgan?'  they  said.  They  wouldn't 
believe  me  at  first." 

"  Well,  father,  and  will  they  help  ?  "  said  Nora. 

"  Bless  you,  they  would  if  they  could.  There's  not  a 
better-natured  man  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  Ireland 
than  Fin  O'Hara;  and  as  to  John  Fitzgerald,  I  believe  he 
would  take  us  all  into  his  barrack  of  a  house;  but  they 
can't  help  with  money,  Nora,  because,  bedad,  they  haven't 
got  it.  A  man  can't  turn  stones  into  money,  even  for  his 
best  and  dearest  friends." 

"Then  wThat  is  to  be  done,  father?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  manage  somehow,"  said  Squire  O'Shan- 
aghgan ;  "  and  we  have  three  months  all  but  a  week  to 
turn  round  in.  We'll  manage  by  hook  or  by  crook.  Don't 
you  fret  your  pretty  little  head.  I  wouldn't  have  a  frown 
on  the  brow  of  my  colleen  for  fifty  O'Shanasrheans.  and 
that's  plain  enough.     I  couldn't  say  more,  could  I  ?  " 


76  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  No,  father  dear,"  answered  Nora  a  little  sadly. 

"  And  tell  me  what  you  were  doing  while  I  was  away," 
said  the  Squire.  "  Faith !  I  thought  I  could  never  get 
back  fast  enough,  I  seemed  to  pine  so  for  you,  colleen; 
you  fit  me  down  to  the  ground." 

Nora  began  to  relate  the  small  occurrences  which  had 
taken  place.  The  Squire  laughed  at  Mrs.  O'Shanagh- 
gan's  sudden  desire  that  Nora  should  be  an  educated 
lady. 

"  I  don't  hold  with  these  new  fashions  about  women," 
he  said ;  "  and  you  are  educated  enough  for  me." 

"  But,  father,  I  like  to  read,  I  like  to  learn,"  said  the 
girl.  "  I  am  very,  very  anxious  to  improve  myself.  I 
may  be  good  enough  for  you,  dear  father,  for  you  love 
me  with  all  my  faults ;  but  some  day  I  may  pine  for  the 
knowledge  which  I  have  not  got." 

"  Eh !  is  it  that  way  with  you?  "  said  the  Squire,  look- 
ing at  her  anxiously.  "  They  say  it's  a  sort  of  a  craze  now 
amongst  women,  the  desire  to  beat  us  men  on  our  own 
ground ;  it's  very  queer,  and  I  don't  understand  it,  and  I 
am  sorry  if  the  craze  has  seized  my  girleen." 

"  Oh !  never  mind,  father  dear ;  I  wouldn't  fret  you  for 
all  the  learning  in  Christendom." 

"  And  I  wouldn't  fret  you  for  fifty  estates  like  O'Shan- 
aghgan,"  said  the  Squire,  "  so  it  strikes  me  we  are  both 
pretty  equal  in  our  sentiments."  He  patted  her  cheek, 
she  linked  her  hand  in  his,  and  they  walked  together  down 
one  of  the  sunny  meadows. 

Nora  thought  of  Neil,  but  determined  not  to  trouble  her 
father  about  him  just  then.  Notwithstanding  her  cheer- 
fulness, her  own  heart  was  very  heavy.  She  possessed, 
with  all  her  Irish  ways,  some  of  the  common  sense  of  her 
English  ancestors,  and  knew  from  past  experience  that 
now  there  was  no  hope  at  all  of  saving  the  old  acres  and 


THE  INVITATION.  77 

the  old  house  unless  something  very  unexpected  turned 
up.  She  understood  her  father's  character  too  well;  he 
would  be  happy  and  contented  until  a  week  before  the 
three  months  were  up,  and  then  he  would  break  down 
utterly — go  under,  perhaps,  forever.  As  to  turning  his 
back  on  the  home  of  his  ancestors  and  the  acres  which 
had  come  to  him  through  a  long  line,  Nora  could  not  face 
such  a  possibility. 

"  It  cannot  be ;  something  must  happen  to  prevent  it," 
she  thought. 

She  thought  and  thought,  and  suddenly  a  daring  idea 
came  into  her  mind.  All  her  life  long  her  mother's  rela- 
tions had  been  brought  up  to  her  as  the  pink  of  propriety, 
the  souls  of  wealth.  Her  uncle,  George  Hartrick,  was, 
according  to  her  mother,  a  wealthy  man.  Her  mother 
had  often  described  him.  She  had  said  that  he  had  been 
very  angry  with  her  for  marrying  the  Squire,  but  had 
confessed  that  at  times  he  had  been  heard  to  say  that  the 
O'Shanaghgans  were  the  proudest  and  oldest  family  in 
County  Kerry,  and  that  some  day  he  would  visit  them  on 
their  own  estate. 

"  I  have  prevented  his  ever  coming,  Nora,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan;  "  it  would  be  such  a  shock  to  him.  He 
thinks  we  live  in  a  castle  such  as  English  people  live  in, 
with  suites  of  magnificent  rooms,  and  crowds  and  crowds 
of  respectably  dressed  servants,  and  that  we  have 
carriages  and  horses.  I  have  kept  up  this  delusion; 
he  must  never  come  over  to  see  the  nakedness  of  the 
land." 

But  now  the  fact  that  her  Uncle  George  had  never  seen 
the  nakedness  of  the  land,  and  that  he  was  attached  to  her 
mother,  and  proud  of  the  fact  that  she  had  married  an 
Irish  gentleman  of  old  descent,  kept  visiting  Nora  again 
and  again.    If  she  could  only  see  him !    If  she  could  only 


78  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

beg  of  him  to  lend  her  father  a  little  money  just  to  avert 
the  crowning  disgrace  of  all — the  O'Shanaghgans  leaving 
their  home  because  they  could  not  afford  to  stop  there, 
Nora  thought,  and  the  wild  idea  which  had  crept  into  her 
head  gathered  strength. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it;  something  desperate  must  be 
done,"  she  thought.  "  Father  won't  save  himself,  because 
he  does  not  know  how.  He  will  just  drift  on  until  a 
week  of  the  fatal  day,  and  then  he  will  have  an  illness. 
I  cannot  let  father  die ;  I  cannot  let  his  heart  be  broken. 
I,  Xora,  will  do  something." 

So  one  day  she  locked  herself  in  her  room.  She  stayed 
there  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  when  she  came  out  again 
a  letter  was  thrust  into  her  pocket.  Xora  was  not  a  good 
letter-writer,  and  this  one  had  taken  nearly  two  hours 
to  produce.  Tears  had  blotted  its  pages,  and  the  paper 
on  which  it  was  written  was  of  the  poorest,  but  it  was 
done  at  last.  She  put  a  stamp  on  it  and  ran  downstairs. 
She  went  to  Hannah's  cabin.  Standing  in  front  of  the 
cabin  was  her  small  admirer  Mike.  He  was  standing  on 
his  head  with  the  full  blaze  of  the  sunlight  all  over  him, 
his  ragged  trousers  had  slipped  down  almost  to  his  knees, 
and  his  little  brown  bare  legs  and  feet  were  twinkling  in 
the  sun.  His  bright  sloe-black  eyes  were  fixed  on  Xora 
as  she  approached. 

"  Come  here,  Mike,"  said  the  girl.  Mike  instantly 
obeyed,  and  gave  a  violent  tug  to  one  of  his  front  locks 
by  way  of  salutation.  He  then  stood  with  his  legs  slightly 
apart,  watching  Xora. 

"  Mike,  I  want  you  to  go  a  message  for  me." 

"  To  be  sure,  miss,"  answered  Mike. 

"  Take  this  letter  to  the  post-office ;  put  it  yourself  into 
the  little  slit  in  the  wall.  I  will  give  you  a  penny  when 
you  have  done  it." 


THE  INVITATION.  79 

"  Yes,  miss,"  answered  Mike. 

"  Here  is  the  letter ;  thrust  it  into  your  pocket  Don't 
let  anyone  see  it ;  it's  a  secret." 

"  A  saycret,  to  be  sure,  miss,"  answered  Mike. 

"  And  you  shall  have  your  penny  if  you  come  up  to  the 
Castle  to-night.  Now  good-by;  run  off  at  once  and  you 
will  catch  the  mail." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mike.  He  winked  at  Xora, 
rolled  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  and  disappeared  like  a  flash 
down  the  dusty  road. 

The  next  few  days  seemed  to  drag  themselves  some- 
how. Nora  felt  limp,  and  not  in  her  usual  spirits.  The 
Squire  was  absent  a  good  deal,  too.  He  was  riding  all 
over  the  country  trying  to  get  a  loan  from  his  different 
friends.  He  wTas  visiting  one  house  after  another.  Some 
of  the  houses  were  neat  and  well-to-do,  but  most  of  them 
sadly  required  funds  to  put  them  in  order.  At  every 
house  Squire  O'Shanaghgan  received  a  hearty  welcome, 
an  invitation  to  dinner,  and  a  bed  for  the  night ;  but  when 
he  made  his  request  the  honest  face  that  looked  into  his 
became  sorrowful,  the  hands  stole  to  the  empty  pockets, 
and  refusals,  accompanied  by  copious  apologies,  were  the 
invariable  result. 

"  There's  no  one  in  all  the  world  I  would  help  sooner, 
Pat,  if  I  could,"  said  Squire  O'Grady ;  "  but  I  have  not 
got  it,  my  man.  I  am  as  hard  pressed  as  I  can  be  my- 
self. We  don't  get  in  the  rents  these  times.  Times  are 
bad — very  bad.  God  help  us  all !  But  if  you  are  turned 
out,  what  an  awTful  thing  it  will  be !  And  your  family 
the  oldest  in  the  place.  You're  welcome,  every  one  of 
you,  to  come  here.  As  long  as  I  have  a  bite  and  sup,  you 
and  yours  shall  share  it  with  me."  And  Squire  Malone 
said  the  same  thing,  and  so  did  the  other  squires.  There 
was  no  lack  of  hospitality,  no  lack  of  good  will,  no  lack 


So  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

of  sorrow  for  poor  Squire  O'Shanaghgan's  calamities  ;  but 
funds  to  avert  the  blow  were  not  forthcoming. 

The  Squire  more  and  more  avoided  Nora's  eyes;  and 
Nora,  who  now  had  a  secret  of  her  own,  and  a  hope  which 
she  would  scarcely  dare  to  confess  even  to  herself,  avoided 
looking  at  him. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  a  little  more  fretful  than  usual. 
She  forgot  all  about  the  lessons  she  had  set  her  daughter 
in  her  laments  over  her  absent  son,  over  the  tattered  and 
disgraceful  state  of  the  Castle,  and  the  ruin  which  seemed 
to  engulf  the  family  more  and  more. 

Nora,  meanwhile,  was  counting  the  days.  She  had 
made  herself  quite  an  fait  with  postal  regulations  during 
these  hours  of  waiting.  She  knew  exactly  the  very  time 
when  the  letter  would  reach  Mr.  Hartrick  in  his  luxurious 
home.  She  thought  she  would  give  him,  perhaps,  twelve 
hours,  perhaps  twenty-four,  before  he  replied.  She  knew, 
then,  how  long  the  answer  would  take  on  its  way.  The 
night  before  she  expected  her  letter  she  scarcely  slept  at 
all.  She  came  down  to  breakfast  with  black  shadows 
under  her  eyes  and  her  face  quite  wan. 

The  Squire,  busy  with  his  own  load  of  trouble,  scarcely 
noticed  her.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  took  her  place  lan- 
guidly at  the  head  of  the  board.  She  poured  out  a  cup  of 
tea  for  her  daughter  and  another  for  her  husband. 

"  I  must  send  to  Dublin  for  some  better  tea,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  Squire.  "  Can  you  let  me  have  a  pound 
after  breakfast,  Pat?  I  may  as  well  order  a  small  chest 
while  I  am  about  it." 

The  Squire  looked  at  her  with  lack-luster  eyes.  Where 
had  he  got  one  pound  for  tea?    But  he  said  nothing. 

Just  then  the  gossoon  Mike  was  seen  passing  the 
window  with  the  post-bag  hung  over  his  shoulder.  Mike 
was  the  postman  in  general  for  the  O'Shanaghgan  house- 


THE  INVITATION.  81 

hold  for  the  large  sum  of  twopence  a  week.  He  went 
daily  to  fetch  the  letters,  and  received  his  money  proudly 
each  Saturday  night.  Nora  now  jumped  up  from  the 
table. 

"  The  letters  !  "  she  gasped. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  surveyed  her  daughter  critically. 

"  Sit  down  again,  Nora,"  she  said.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you  ?  You  know  I  don't  allow  these  manners  at 
table." 

"  But  it  is  the  post,  mammy,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  if  you  will  be  patient,  Margaret  will 
bring  the  post  in." 

Nora  sat  down  again,  trembling.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan 
gave  her  a  cold  stare,  and  helped  herself  languidly  to  a 
small  snippet  of  leathery  toast. 

"  Our  cook  gets  worse  and  worse,"  she  said  as  she 
broke  it.  "  Dear,  dear !  I  think  I  must  make  a  change. 
I  have  heard  of  an  excellent  cook  just  about  to  leave  some 
people  of  the  name  of  Wilson  in  the  town.  They  are 
English  people,  which  accounts  for  their  having  a  good 
servant." 

At  that  moment  the  redoubtable  Pegeen  did  thrust  in 
her  head,  holding  the  post-bag  at  arm's  length  away  from 
her. 

"  Here's  the  post,  Miss  Nora,"  she  said ;  "  maybe  you'll 
fetch  it,  miss.     I'm  a  bit  dirty." 

Nora  could  not  restrain  herself  another  moment.  She 
rushed  across  the  room,  seized  the  bag,  and  laid  it  by  her 
father's  side.  As  a  rule,  the  post-bag  was  quickly  opened, 
and  its  small  contents  dispersed.  These  consisted  of  the 
local  paper  for  the  Squire,  which  was  always  put  up 
with  the  letters,  a  circular  or  two,  and,  at  long  intervals, 
a  letter  for  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  and  perhaps  one  from 
an  absent  friend  for  the  Squire.    No  one  was  excited,  as 


82  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

a  rule,  about  the  post  at  the  Castle,  and  Nora's  ill-sup- 
pressed anxiety  was  sufficiently  marked  now  to  make 
even  her  father  look  at  her  in  some  surprise.  To  the 
girl's  relief,,  her  mother  unexpectedly  came  to  the  rescue. 

"She  thinks,  perhaps,  Terence  will  write,"  she  said; 
"  but  I  told  him  not  to  worry  himself  writing  too  often. 
Stamps  cost  money,  and  the  boy  will  need  every  penny  to 
keep  up  a  decent  appearance  at  my  brother's." 

"  All  the  same,  perhaps  he  will  be  an  Irish  boy  enough 
to  write  a  letter  to  his  own  sister,"  said  the  Squire.  "  So 
here  goes ;  we'll  look  and  see  if  there  is  anything  inside 
here  for  you,  my  little  Norrie." 

The  Squire  unlocked  the  bag  and  emptied  the  contents 
on  the  table.  They  were  very  meager  contents ;  nothing 
but  the  newspaper  and  one  letter.  The  Squire  took  it  up 
and  looked  at  it. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  for  you,  my  dear." 

"  For  me,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  holding  out  her 
hand.     "  Pass  it  across,  Nora." 

"  No,  it  is  not  for  you,  my  lady,  as  it  happens.  It  is 
for  Nora.    Here,  Norrie,  take  it." 

Nora  took  it  up.  She  was  shivering  now,  and  her  hand 
could  scarcely  hold  it.  It  was  addressed  to  her,  beyond 
doubt:  "  Miss  O'Shanaghgan,  Castle  O'Shanaghgan," 
etc. 

"  Read  it  at  once,  Nora,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  have 
not  yet  had  any  letter  to  speak  of  from  Terry  myself.  If 
you  read  it  aloud  it  will  entertain  us.  It  seems  to  be  a 
thick  letter." 

"  I  don't  think — I  don't  think  it — it  is  from  Terence," 
answered  Nora. 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear." 

"  Open  it,  Norrie,  and  tell  us,"  said  the  Squire.  "  It 
will  be  refreshing  to  hear  a  bit  of  outside  news." 


THE  INVITATION.  8$ 

Nora  now  opened  the  envelope,  and  took  a  very  thick 
sheet  of  paper  out.  The  contents  of  the  letter  ran  as 
follows : 

"  My  Dear  Nora — Your  brother  Terence  came  here 
a  week  ago,  and  has  told  us  a  great  deal  about  you.  We 
are  enjoving  having  him  extremely ;  but  he  has  made  us 
all  anxious  to  know  you  also.  I  write  now  to  ask  if  you 
will  come  and  pay  us  a  visit  at  once,  while  your  brother  is 
here.  Ask  your  mother  to  spare  you.  You  can  return 
with  Terence  whenever  you  are  tired  of  us  and  our  ways. 
I  have  business  at  Holyhead  next  Tuesday,  and  could 
meet  you  there,  if  you  could  make  it  convenient  to  cross 
that  day.  I  inclose  a  paper  with  the  hours  that  the  boats 
leave,  and  when  they  arrive  at  Holyhead.  I  could  then 
take  you  up  with  me  to  London,  and  we  could  reach  here 
that  same  evening.  Ask  my  sister  to  spare  you.  You  will 
be  heartily  welcome,  my  little  Irish  niece. — Your  affection- 
ate uncle, 

George  Hartrick." 

Nora  could  scarcely  read  the  words  aloud.  When  she 
had  finished  she  let  the  sheet  of  paper  flutter  to  the  floor, 
and  looked  at  her  mother  with  glowing  cheeks  and  spark- 
ling eyes. 

"  I  may  go?    I  must  go,"  she  said. 

"  My  dear  Nora,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  "  why  that 
must?" 

"  Oh,  mammy !  oh,  daddy !  don't  disappoint  me,"  cried 
the  girl.    "  Do — do  let  me  go,  please,  please." 

"  Nora,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  again,  "  I  never  saw 
you  so  unreasonable  in  your  life ;  you  are  quite  carried 
away.  Your  uncle,  after  long  years,  has  condescended  to 
send  you  an  invitation,  and  you  speak  in  this  impulsive. 


84  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING, 

unrestrained  fashion.  Of  course,  it  would  be  extremely 
nice  for  you  to  go ;  but  I  doubt  for  a  single  moment  if  it 
can  be  afforded." 

"  Oh,  daddy,  daddy !  please  take  my  part !  "  cried  Xora. 
"  Please  let  me  go,  daddy — oh,  daddy !  "  She  rushed  up 
to  her  father,  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  rose  from  the  table  in  cold  dis- 
pleasure.   "  Give  me  your  uncle's  letter,"  she  said. 

Nora  did  not  glance  at  her ;  she  was  past  speaking.  So 
much  hung  on  this ;  all  the  future  of  the  O'Shanaghgans ; 
the  Castle,  the  old  Castle,  the  home  of  her  ancestors,  the 
place  in  which  she  was  born,  the  land  she  loved,  the 
father  she  adored — all,  all  their  future  hung  upon  Nora's 
accepting  the  invitation  which  she  had  asked  her  uncle 
to  give  her.  Oh !  if  they  ever  found  out,  what  would  her 
father  and  mother  say?  Would  they  ever  speak  to  her 
again?  But  they  must  not  find  out,  and  she  must  go; 
yes,  she  must  go. 

"What  is  it,  Nora?  Do  leave  her  alone  for  a  mo- 
ment, wife,"  said  the  Squire.  "  There  is  something  be- 
hind all  this.  I  never  saw  Light  o'  the  Morning  give  way 
to  pure  selfishness  before." 

"  It  isn't — it  isn't,"  sobbed  Nora,  her  head  buried  on 
the  Squire's  shoulder. 

"  My  darling,  light  of  my  eyes,  colleen  asthore,  acushla 
machree !  "  said  the  Squire.  He  lavished  fond  epithets 
upon  the  girl,  and  finally  took  her  into  his  arms,  and 
clasped  her  tight  to  his  breast. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  after  staring  at  the  two  in  speech- 
less indignation  for  a  moment,  left  the  room.  When  she 
reached  the  door  she  turned  round. 

"  I  cannot  stand  Irish  heroics,"  she  said.     "  This  is  a 


THE   INVITATION.  S5 

disgraceful  scene.     Nora,  I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  of 
you." 

She  carried  her  brother's  letter  away  with  her,  how- 
ever, and  retired  into  the  drawing  room.  There  she  read 
it  carefully. 

How  nice  it  would  be  if  Nora  could  go!  And  Nora 
was  a  beauty,  too — an  Irish  beauty;  the  sort  of  girl  who 
always  goes  down  in  England.  She  would  want  respecta- 
ble dress ;  and  then — with  her  taking  ways  and  those 
roguish,  dark-blue  eyes  of  hers,  with  that  bewitching 
smile  which  showed  a  gleam  of  the  whitest  and  most 
pearly  teeth  in  the  world,  with  the  light,  lissome  figure, 
and  the  blue-black  hair — what  could  not  Irish  Nora 
achieve?  Conquests  innumerable;  she  might  make  a 
match  worthy  of  her  race  and  name ;  she  might — oh,  she 
might  do  anything.  She  was  only  a  child,  it  is  true ;  but 
all  the  same  she  was  a  budding  woman. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  sat  and  pondered. 

"  It  seems  a  great  pity  to  refuse,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  And  Nora  does  need  discipline  badly ;  the  discipline  of 
England  and  my  brother's  well-ordered  home  will  work 
wonders  with  her.  Poor  child,  her  father  will  miss  her. 
I  really  sometimes  think  the  Squire  is  getting  into  his 
dotage.  He  makes  a  perfect  fool  of  that  girl ;  to  see  her 
there  speaking  in  that  selfish  way,  and  he  petting  her,  and 
calling  her  ridiculous  names,  with  no  meaning  in  them, 
and  folding  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she  were  a  baby,  and  all 
for  pure,  downright  selfishness,  is  enough  to  make  any 
sensible  person  sick.  Nora,  too,  who  has  always  been 
spoken  of  as  the  unselfish  member  of  the  family,  who 
would  not  spend  a  penny  to  save  her  life  if  she  thought 
the  Squire  was  going  to  sutler.  Now  she  wants  him  to 
put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  for  a  considerable  amount; 


86  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

for  the  child  cannot  go  to  my  brother  without  suitable 
clothes — that  is  a  foregone  conclusion.  But,  dear  me !  all 
women  are  selfish  when  it  comes  to  mere  pleasure,  and 
Nora  is  no  better  than  the  rest.  For  my  part,  I  admire 
dear  Terence's  downright  method  of  asking  for  so-and-so, 
and  getting  it.  Nora  is  deceitful.  I  am  much  disap- 
pointed in  her." 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE  DIAMOND   CROSS. 

But  although  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  spoke  of  her  daugh- 
ter to  herself  as  deceitful,  she  did  not  at  all  give  up  the 
idea  of  her  accepting  her  uncle's  invitation.  George 
Hartrick  had  always  had  an  immense  influence  over  his 
sister  Ellen.  He  and  she  had  been  great  friends  long  ago, 
when  the  handsome,  bright  girl  had  been  glad  to  take  the 
advice  of  her  elder  brother.  They  had  almost  quarreled 
at  that  brief  period  of  madness  in  Ellen  Hartrick's  life, 
when  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  handsome  Squire 
O'Shanaghgan ;  but  that  quarrel  had  long  been  made  up. 
Mrs.  O'Shanghgan  had  married  the  owner  of  O'Shan- 
aghgan Castle,  and  had  rued  her  brief  madness  ever 
since.  But  her  pride  had  prevented  her  complaining  to 
her  brother  George.  George  still  imagined  that  she  kept 
her  passionate  love  intact  for  the  wild  Irishman.  Only  one 
thing  she  had  managed  ever  since  their  parting,  many 
years  ago,  and  that  was,  that  her  English  brother  should 
not  come  to  see  her  in  her  Irish  home.  One  excuse  after 
the  other  she  had  offered,  and  at  last  she  had  told  him 
frankly  that  the  ways  of  the  Irish  were  not  his  ways; 
and  that,  when  he  really  wanted  to  see  his  sister,  he  must 
invite  her  to  come  to  England  to  visit  him. 

Hartrick  was  hurt  at  Ellen's  behavior,  and  as  he  him- 
self had  married  about  the  same  time,  and  his  own  young 
family  were  growing  up  around  him,  and  the  making  of 
money  and  the  toil  of  riches  wrere  claiming  him  more  and 
more,  he  did  not  often  think  of  the  sister  who  was  away 


88  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

in  the  wilds  of  Ireland.  She  had  married  one  of  the 
proud  old  Irish  chiefs.  She  had  a  very  good  position  in 
her  way ;  and  when  her  son  and  daughter  required  a  lit- 
tle peep  into  the  world,  Hartrick  resolved  that  they  should 
have  it.  He  had  invited  Terence  over;  and  now  Nora's 
letter,  with  its  perplexity,  its  anguish,  its  bold  request,  and 
its  final  tenderness,  had  come  upon  him  with  a  shock  of 
surprise. 

George  Hartrick  was  a  much  stronger  character  than 
his  sister.  He  was  a  very  fine  man,  indeed,  with  splendid 
principles  and  downright  ways ;  and  there  was  something 
about  this  outspoken  and  queer  letter  which  touched  him 
in  spite  of  himself.  He  was  not  easily  touched ;  but  he 
respected  the  writer  of  that  letter.  He  felt  that  if  he 
knew  her  he  could  get  on  with  her.  He  resolved  to  treat 
her  confidence  with  the  respect  it  seemed  to  him  it  de- 
served ;  and,  without  hesitation,  he  wrote  her  the  sort  of 
letter  she  had  asked  him  to  write.  She  should  pay  him 
a  visit,  and  he  would  find  out  for  himself  the  true  state 
of  things  at  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  Whether  he  would 
help  the  Squire  or  not,  whether  there  was  any  need  to 
help  him,  he  could  not  say,  for  Nora  had  not  really  re- 
vealed much  of  the  truth  in  her  passionate  letter.  She 
had  hinted  at  it,  but  she  had  not  spoken ;  she  would  wait 
for  that  moment  of  outpouring  of  her  heart  until  she  ar- 
rived at  The  Laurels. 

Now,  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  standing  alone  in  her  big, 
empty  drawing  room,  and  looking  out  at  the  summer 
landscape,  thought  of  how  Nora  might  enter  her  brother's 
house.  Fond  as  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  of  Terence — 
he  was  in  truth  a  son  after  her  own  heart — she  had  a 
queer  kind  of  pride  about  her  with  regard  to  Nora.  Wild 
and  untutored  as  Nora  looked,  her  mother  knew  that  few 
girls  in  England  could  hold  a  candle  to  her,  if  justice  were 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  89 

done  her.  There  was  something  about  the  expression  in 
Nora's  eyes  which  even  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  could 
scarcely  resist  at  times,  and  there  were  tones  and  inflec- 
tions of  entreaty  in  Nora's  voice  which  had  a  strange 
power  of  melting  the  hearts  of  those  who  listened  to  her. 

After  about  an  hour  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  went  very 
slowly  upstairs.  Her  bedroom  was  over  the  drawing 
room.  It  was  just  as  large  as  the  drawing  room — a  great 
bare  apartment.  The  carpet  which  covered  the  floor  was 
so  threadbare  that  the  boards  showed  through  in  places ; 
the  old,  faded  chintz  curtains  which  hung  at  the  windows 
were  also  in  tatters ;  but  they  were  perfectly  clean,  for 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  did  her  best  to  retain  that  English 
cleanliness  and  order  which  she  felt  were  so  needed  in  the 
land  of  desolation,  as  she  was  pleased  to  call  Ireland. 

A  huge  four-post  bedstead  occupied  a  prominent 
place  against  one  of  the  walls ;  there  was  an  enormous 
mahogany  wardrobe  against  another ;  but  the  whole  cen- 
ter of  the  room  was  bare.  The  dressing-table,  however, 
which  stood  right  in  the  center  of  the  huge  bay,  was  full 
of  pretty  things — silver  appointments  of  different  kinds, 
brushes  and  combs  heavily  mounted  in  silver,  glass  bot- 
tles with  silver  stoppers,  perfume  bottles,  pretty  knick- 
knacks  of  all  sorts.  When  Nora  was  a  little  child  she  used 
to  stand  fascinated,  gazing  at  her  mother's  dressing-table. 
It  was  the  one  spot  where  any  of  the  richness  of  the  Eng- 
lishwoman's early  life  could  still  be  found.  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan went  up  now  and  looked  at  her  dressing-table, 
sweeping  her  eyes  rapidly  over  its  contents.  The  brushes 
and  combs,  the  bottles  of  scent,  the  button-hooks,  the 
shoe-horns,  the  thousand-and-one  little  nothings,  polished 
and  bright,  stood  upon  the  dressing-table;  and  besides 
these  there  was  a  large,  silver-mounted  jewel-case. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  not  at  all  afraid  to  leave  this 


90  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

jewel-case  out,  exposed  to  view  day  after  day,  for  no  one 
all  round  the  place  would  have  touched  so  much  as  a  pin 
which  belonged  to  the  Squire's  lady.  The  people  were 
poor,  and  would  thing  nothing  of  stealing  half  a  bag  of 
potatoes,  or  helping  themselves  to  a  good  sack  of  fruit 
out  of  the  orchard ;  but  to  take  the  things  from  the  lady's 
bedroom  or  anything  at  all  out  of  the  house  they  would 
have  scorned.  They  had  their  own  honesty,  and  they 
loved  the  Squire  too  much  to  attempt  anything  of  the  sort. 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  now  put  a  key  into  the  lock  of  the 
jewel-case  and  opened  it.  When  first  she  was  married 
it  was  full  of  pretty  things — long  strings  of  pearls,  a 
necklet  of  very  valuable  diamonds,  a  tiara  of  the  same, 
rings  innumerable,  bracelets,  head  ornaments  of  different 
kinds,  buckles  for  shoes,  clasps  for  belts,  pins,  brooches. 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghan,  when  Nora  was  a  tiny  child,  used 
on  every  one  of  the  little  girl's  birthdays  to  allow  her  to 
overhaul  the  jewel  case ;  but  of  late  years  Nora  had  never 
looked  inside  it,  and  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  had  religiously 
kept  it  locked.  She  opened  it  now  with  a  sigh.  The 
upper  tray  was  quite  empty ;  the  diamonds  had  long  ago 
been  disposed  of.  They  had  gone  to  pay  for  Terence's 
schooling,  for  Terence's  clothes,  for  one  thing  and  an- 
other that  required  money.  They  had  gone,  oh !  so 
quickly;  had  melted  away  so  certainly.  That  first  visit 
of  her  son's  to  England  had  cost  Mrs.  O'Shanagahgan 
her  long  string  of  pearls,  which  had  come  to  her  as  an 
heirloom  from  her  mother  before  her.  They  were  very 
valuable  pearls,  and  she  had  sold  them  for  a  tenth,  a 
twentieth  part  of  their  value.  The  jeweler  in  Dublin,  who 
was  quite  accustomed  to  receiving  the  poor  lady's  trin- 
kets, had  sent  her  a  check  for  fifty  pounds  for  the  pearls, 
knowing  well  that  he  could  sell  them  himself  for  at  least 
three  hundred  pounds. 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  91 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  now  once  more  rifled  the  jewel 
case.  There  were  some  things  still  left — two  or  three 
rings  and  a  diamond  cross.  She  had  never  wanted  to 
part  with  that  cross.  She  had  pictured  over  and  over 
how  it  would  shine  on  Nora's  white  neck ;  how  lovely  Nora 
would  look  when  dressed  for  her  first  ball,  having  that 
white  Irish  cross,  with  its  diamonds  and  its  single  emer- 
ald in  the  center,  shining  on  her  breast.  But  would  it 
not  be  better  to  give  Nora  the  chance  of  spending  three  or 
four  months  in  England,  the  chance  of  educating  her- 
self, and  let  the  cross  go  by  ?  It  was  so  valuable  that  the 
good  lady  quite  thought  that  she  ought  to  get  seventy 
pounds  for  it.  With  seventy  pounds  she  could  fit  Nora 
up  for  her  English  visit,  and  have  a  little  over  to  keep  in 
her  own  pocket.  Only  Nora  must  not  go  next  Tuesday ; 
that  was  quite  impossibles 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  quickly  determined  to  make  the 
sacrifice.  She  could  still  supply  Nora  with  a  little,  very 
simple  pearl  necklet,  to  wear  with  her  white  dress  during 
her  visit ;  and  the  cross  would  have  to  go.  There  would 
be  a  few  rings  still  left ;  after  that  the  jewel  case  would 
be  empty. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  packed  the  precious  cross  into  a 
little  box,  and  took  it  out  herself  to  register  it,  and  to  send 
it  off  to  the  jeweler  who  always  bought  the  trinkets  she 
sent  him.  She  told  him  that  she  expected  him  to  give 
her,  without  the  smallest  demur,  seventy  pounds  for  the 
cross,  and  hoped  to  have  the  money  by  the  next  day's 
post. 

Having  done  this  and  dispatched  her  letter,  she  walked 
briskly  back  to  the  Castle.  She  saw  Nora  wandering 
about  in  the  avenue.  Nora,  hatless  and  gloveless,  was 
playing  with  the  dogs.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all 
about  her  keen  disappointment  of  the  morning.     When 


92  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

she  saw  her  mother  coming  up  the  avenue  she  ran  to  meet 
her. 

"  Why,  mammy,"  she  said,  "  how  early  you  are  out ! 
Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  I  dislike  extremely  that  habit  you  have,  Nora,  of 
calling  me  mammy ;  mother  is  the  word  you  should  ad- 
dress your  parent  with.  Please  remember  in  future  that 
I  wish  to  be  called  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mother !  "  answered  Nora.  The  girl  had  the 
sweetest  temper  in  the  world,  and  no  amount  of  re- 
proof ever  caused  her  to  answer  angrily.  "  But  where 
have  you  been  ?  "  she  said,  her  curiosity  getting  the  bet- 
ter of  her  prudence. 

"  Again,  Nora,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  must  reprove  you. 
I  have  been  to  the  village  on  business  of  my  own.  It  is 
scarcely  your  affair  where  I  choose  to  walk  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,  mam — I  mean  mother." 

"  But  come  with  me  down  this  walk.  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you." 

Nora  eagerly  complied.  There  was  something  in  the 
look  of  her  mother's  eyes  which  made  her  guess  that  the 
usual  subject  of  conversation — her  own  want  of  deport- 
ment, her  ignorance  of  etiquette — was  not  to  be  the  theme. 
She  felt  her  heart,  which  had  sunk  like  lead  within 
her,  rise  again  to  the  surface.  Her  eyes  sparkled  and 
smiles  played  round  her  rosy  lips. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  said ;  "  yes." 

"  All  impulse,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan — she  laid  her 
hand  on  Nora's  arm — "  all  impulse,  all  Irish  enthusiasm." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  you  know,"  said  Nora.  "  I  was  born 
that  way.     I  am  Irish,  you  know,  mammy." 

"  You  are  also  English,  my  dear,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  Pray  remember  that  fact  when  you  see  your  cousins." 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  93 

"  My  cousins !  My  English  cousins !  But  am  I  to 
see  them?     Mother,  mother,  do  you  mean  it?" 

"  I  do  mean  it,  Nora.  I  intend  you  to  accept  your 
uncle's  invitation.  No  heroics,  please,"  as  the  girl  was 
about  to  fling  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck ;  "  keep 
those  for  your  father,  Nora ;  I  do  not  wish  for  them.  I 
intend  you  to  go  and  behave  properly  ;  pray  remember  that 
when  you  give  way  to  pure  Irishism,  as  I  may  express 
your  most  peculiar  manners,  you  disgrace  me,  your 
mother.  I  mean  you  to  go  in  order  to  have  you  tamed  a 
little.     You  are  absolutely  untamed  now,  unbroken  in." 

"  I  never  want  to  be  broken  in,"  whispered  Nora,  tears 
of  mingled  excitement  and  pain  at  her  mother's  words 
brimming  to  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  mother !  "  she  said,  with  a 
sudden  wail,  "  will  you  never,  never  understand  Nora?  " 

"  I  understand  her  quite  well,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanagh- 
gan,  her  voice  assuming  an  unwonted  note  of  softness ; 
"  and  because  I  do  understand  Nora  so  well,"  she  added 
— and  now  she  patted  the  girl's  slender  arm — "  I  want 
her  to  have  this  great  advantage,  for  there  is  much  that 
is  good  in  you,  Nora.  But  you  are  undisciplined,  my 
dear ;  wild,  unkempt.  Little  did  I  think  in  the  old  days 
that  a  daughter  of  mine  should  have  to  have  such  things 
said  to  her.  Our  more  stately,  more  sober  ways  will  be  a 
revelation  to  you,  Nora.  To  your  brother  Terence  they 
will  come  as  second  nature ;  but  you,  my  dear,  will  have 
to  be  warned  beforehand.  I  warn  you  now  that  your 
Uncle  George  will  not  understand  the  wild  excitement 
which  you  seem  to  consider  the  height  of  good  breeding 
at  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  Mother,  mother,"  said  Nora,  "  don't  say  anything 
against  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  Am  I  doing  so  ?  "  said  the  poor  lady.  She  stood  for 
a  moment  and  looked  around  her.     Nora  stopped  also. 


94  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

and  when  she  saw  her  mother's  eyes  travel  to  the  ram- 
bling old  house,  to  the  neglected  lawn,  the  avenue  over- 
grown with  weeds,  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  stab  of  the 
crudest  pain  was  penetrating  her  heart. 

"  Mother  sees  all  the  ugliness ;  she  is  determined  to," 
thought  Xora ;  "  but  I  see  all  the  beauty.  Oh !  the  dear, 
dear  old  place,  it  shan't  go  if  Nora  can  save  it."  Then, 
with  a  great  effort,  she  controlled  herself. 

"  How  am  I  to  go?  "  she  said.  "  Where  is  the  money 
to  come  from?  " 

"  You  need  not  question  me  on  that  point,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan.     "  I  will  provide  the  means." 

"  Oh,  mother!  "  said  Xora ;  "  no,  I  would  rather  stay." 
But  then  she  remembered  all  that  this  involved ;  she  knew 
quite  well  that  her  mother  had  rifled  the  jewel-case;  but 
as  she  had  done  so  over  and  over  again  just  for  Terence's 
mere  pleasure,  might  she  not  do  so  once  more  to  save  the 
old  place? 

"Very  well,"  she  said  demurely;  "I  won't  ask  any 
questions." 

"  You  had  better  not,  for  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  replying  to  them,"  answered  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan.  "  I 
shall  write  to  your  uncle  to-day.  You  cannot  go  next 
week,  however." 

"  Oh  !  why  not  ?  He  said  Tuesday  ;  he  would  meet  me 
at  Holyhead  on  Tuesday." 

"  I  will  try  and  provide  a  fit  escort  for  you  to  England ; 
But  you  cannot  go  next  Tuesday ;  your  wardrobe  forbids 
it."  answered  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  My  wardrobe!  Oh,  mother,  I  really  need  not  bother 
about  clothes !  " 

"  You  may  not  bother  about  them,  Xora ;  but  I  in- 
tend to,"  replied  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan.  "  I  must  buy  you 
some  suitable  dress." 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  95 

u  But  how  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  away  from  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  foi 
a  long  time,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  "  and  it  will  be 
a  nice  change  for  me.  I  shall  take  you  to  Dublin,  and  get 
you  what  things  are  necessary.  I  will  then  see  you  off  on 
board  the  steamer." 

"  But  would  not  father  be  best?  " 

"  Your  father  can  come  with  us  or  not,  just  as  he 
pleases;  but  I  am  the  person  who  will  see  to  your 
wardrobe  for  your  English  visit,"  replied  her 
mother. 

Nora,  excited,  bewildered,  charmed,  had  little  or  noth- 
ing to  oppose  to  this  plan.  After  all,  her  mother  was 
coming  out  in  a  new  light.  How  indifferent  she  had  been 
about  Nora's  dress  in  the  past !  For  Terence  were  the 
fashionable  coats  and  the  immaculate  neckties  and  the 
nice  gloves  and  the  patent-leather  boots.  For  Nora ! 
Now  and  then  an  old  dress  of  her  mother's  was  cut  down 
to  fit  the  girl ;  but  as  a  rule  she  wore  anything  she  could 
lay  hands  on,  made  anyhow.  It  is  true  she  was  never 
grotesque  like  Biddy  Murphy;  but  up  to  the  present 
dress  had  scarcely  entered  at  all  as  a  factor  into  her 
life. 

The  next  few  days  passed  in  a  whirl  of  bewildered  ex- 
citement. Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  received,  as  she  expected, 
by  return  of  post,  seventy  pounds  from  the  Dublin  jeweler 
for  her  lovely  diamond  cross.  This  man  was  rapidly 
making  his  fortune  out  of  poor  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  and 
he  knew  that  he  had  secured  a  splendid  bargain  for  him- 
self when  he  bought  the  cross. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  therefore,  with  a  full  purse,  could 
give  directions  to  her  household  during  her  brief  absence, 
and  altogether  was  much  brightened  and  excited  at  the 
thousrht  of  Nora's  visit.     She  had  written  herself  to  her 


96  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

brother,  saying  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  spare  her 
daughter,  and  giving  him  one  or  two  hints  with  regard  to 
Nora's  manners  and  bringing  up. 

"  The  Irish  have  quite  different  ideas,  my  dear  brother," 
she  wrote,  "  with  regard  to  etiquette  to  those  which  were 
instilled  into  us ;  but  you  will  bear  patiently  with  my  lit- 
tle wild  Irish  girl,  for  she  has  a  very  true  heart,  and  is 
also,  I  think  you  will  admit,  nice-looking." 

Mr.  Hartrick,  who  read  between  the  lines  of  his  sis- 
ter's letter,  wrote  to  say  that  business  would  bring  him  to 
Holyhead  on  the  following  Tuesday  week  also,  and,  there- 
fore, it  would  be  quite  convenient  for  him  to  meet  Nora 
on  that  day. 

The  evening  before  she  was  to  depart  arrived  at  last. 
The  Squire  had  spent  a  busy  day.  From  the  moment 
when  Nora  had  told  him  that  her  mother  had  provided 
funds,  and  that  she  was  to  go  to  England,  he  had  scarcely 
reverted  to  the  matter.  In  truth,  with  that  curious  Irish 
phase  in  his  character  which  is  more  or  less  the  inheri- 
tance of  every  member  of  his  country,  he  contrived  to  put 
away  the  disagreeable  subject  even  from  his  thoughts. 
He  was  busy,  very  busy,  attending  to  his  farm  and  riding 
round  his  establishment.  He  was  still  hoping  against 
hope  that  some  money  would  come  in  his  way  long  before 
the  three  months  were  up,  when  the  mortgagee  would 
foreclose  on  his  property.  He  was  not  at  all  unhappy,  and 
used  to  enter  his  house  singing  lustily  or  whistling  loudly. 
Xora  sometimes  wondered  if  he  also  forgot  how  soon  she 
was  going  to  leave  him.  His  first  call  when  he  en- 
tered the  house  had  always  been  "  Light  o'  the  Morning, 
where  are  you  ?  Come  here,  asthore ;  the  old  dad  has  re- 
turned," or  some  such  expression.  It  came  to  the  excited 
girl's  heart  with  a  pang  how  he  would  miss  her  when  she 
was  no  longer  there ;  how  he  would  call  for  her  in  vain. 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  97 

and  feel  bewildered  for  a  moment,  and  then  remember 
that  she  was  far  away. 

"  But  I  shan't  be  long  away,"  she  thought;  "  and  when 
I  come  back  and  save  him  and  the  old  place,  oh,  how  glad 
he  will  be!  He  will  indeed  then  think  me  his  Light  o' 
the  Morning,  for  I  shall  have  saved  him  and  the  old 
home." 

But  the  last  evening  came,  and  Nora  considered  whether 
she  ought  to  recall  the  fact  that  she  was  going  away, 
perhaps  for  a  couple  of  months,  to  her  father.  He  came 
in  as  usual,  sat  down  heavily  on  the  nearest  settee,  and 
stretched  out  his  long  legs. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am  getting  old  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  declare 
I  feel  a  bit  tired.  Come  along  here,  Nora,  and  cheer  me 
up.     What  news  have  you  this  evening,  little  woman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  father!  don't  you  know?  " 

"  Well,  your  eyes  look  bright  enough.  What  is  it, 
girleen?  " 

"  I  am  going  away  to  Dublin  to-morrow." 

"You?  Bless  you!  so  you  are,"  said  the  Squire,  with 
a  hearty  laugh.  "  Upon  my  soul  I  forgot  all  about  it. 
Well,  and  you  are  going  to  have  a  good  time,  and  you'll 
forget  the  old  dad — eh? — you'll  forget  all  about  the  old 
dad?" 

"  Father,  father,  you  know  better,"  said  Nora — she 
flung  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  laid  her  soft  cheek 
against  his — "  as  if  I  could  ever  forget  you  for  a  single 
moment,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it,  a-colleen;  I  know  it,  heart's" asthore.  Of 
course  you  won't.  I  am  right  glad  you  are  going ;  it  will 
be  a  nice  change  for  you.  And  what  about  the  bits  of 
duds — eh  ? — and  the  pretty  trinkets  ?  Why,  you'll  be  go- 
ing into  grand  society;  you'll  be  holding  your  little  head 
like  a  queen.     Don't  you  forget,  my  pet,  that  you're  Irish 


98  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

through  and  through,  and  that  you  come  of  a  long  line  of 
brave  ancestors.  The  women  of  your  house  never 
stooped  to  a  shabby  action,  Nora ;  and  never  one  of  them 
sacrificed  her  honor  for  gold  or  anything  else;  and  the 
men  were  brave,  girleen,  very  brave,  and  had  never  fear 
in  one  of  them.  You  remember  that,  and  keep  yourself 
upright  and  brave  and  proud,  and  come  back  to  the  old 
dad  with  as  pure  and  loving  a  heart  as  you  have  now." 

"  Oh,  father,  of  course,  of  course.  But  you  will  miss 
me?  you  will  miss  me?  " 

"  Bedad !  I  expect  I  shall,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  but  I  am 
not  going  to  fret,  so  don't  you  imagine  it." 

"  Have  you,"  said  Xora  in  a  low  whisper — "  have  you 
done  anything  about — about  the  mortgage?  " 

"  Oh,  you  be  aisy,"  said  the  Squire,  giving  her  a  playful 
poke ;  "  and  if  you  can't  be  aisy,  be  as  aisy  as  you  can,"  he 
continued,  referring  to  the  old  well-known  saying. 
"  Things  will  come  right  enough.  Why,  the  matter  is 
weeks  off  yet.  It  was  only  yesterday  I  heard  from  an  old 
friend,  Larry  M'Dermott,  who  has  been  in  Australia,  and 
has  made  a  fine  pile.  He  is  back  again,  and  I  am  thinking 
of  seeing  him  and  settling  up  matters  with  him.  Don't 
you  have  an  uneasy  thought  in  your  head,  my  child.  I'll 
write  to  you  when  the  thing  is  fixed  up,  as  fixed  it  will  be 
by  all  that's  likely  in  a  week  or  fortnight  from  now.  But 
look  here,  Xorrie,  you'll  want  something  to  keep  in  your 
pocket  when  you  are  away.  I  had  best  give  you  a  five- 
pound  note." 

"  Xo.  no,"  said  Xora.  "I  wouldn't  touch  it;  I  don't 
want  it." 

"  Why  not?     Is  it  too  proud  you  are?  " 

"  Xo ;  mother  is  helping  me  to  this  visit.  I  don't  know 
how  she  has  got  money.     I  suppose  in  the  old  way." 

"  Poor  soul !  "  said  the  Squire.     "  To  tell  you  the  truth. 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  99 

Norrie,  I  can't  bear  to  look  at  that  jewel-case  of  hers.  I 
believe,  upon  my  word,  that  it  is  nearly  empty.  She  is 
very  generous,  is  your  mother.  She's  a  very  fine  woman, 
and  I  am  desperate  proud  of  her.  When  M'Dermott 
helps  me  to  tide  over  this  pinch  I'll  have  all  those  jewels 
back  again  by  hook  or  by  crook.  Your  mother  shan't 
suffer  in  the  long  run,  and  I'll  do  a  lot  to  the  old  place — 
the  old  house  wants  papering  and  painting.  We'll  dance 
a  merry  jig  at  O'Shanaghgan  at  your  wedding,  my  little 
girl ;  and  now  don't  keep  me,  for  I  have  got  to  go  out  to 
meet  Murphy.  He  said  he  would  look  around  about  this 
hour." 

Nora  left  her  father,  and  wandered  out  into  the  soft 
summer  gloaming.  She  went  down  the  avenue,  and 
leaned  for  a  time  over  the  gate.  The  white  gate  was  sadly 
in  need  of  paint,  but  it  was  not  hanging  off  its  hinges  as 
the  gate  was  which  led  to  the  estate  of  Cronane.  Nora 
put  her  feet  on  the  last  rung,  leaned  her  arms  on  the  top 
one,  and  swayed  softly,  as  she  thought  of  all  that  was 
about  to  happen,  and  the  glorious  adventures  which  would 
in  all  probability  be  hers  during  the  next  few  weeks.  As 
she  thought,  and  forgot  herself  in  dreams  of  the  future,  a 
low  voice  calling  her  name  caused  her  to  start.  A  man 
with  shaggy  hair  and  wild,  bright  eyes  had  come  up  to  the 
other  side  of  the  gate. 

"  Why,  then,  Miss  Nora,  how  are  ye  this  evening?  "  he 
said.     He  pulled  his  forelock  as  he  spoke. 

Nora  felt  a  sudden  coldness  come  over  all  her  rosy 
dreams ;  but  she  was  too  Irish  and  too  like  her  ancestors 
to  feel  any  fear,  although  she  could  not  help  remembering 
that  she  was  nearly  half  a  mile  away  from  the  house,  and 
that  there  was  not  a  soul  anywhere  within  call. 

"  Good-evening,  Andy,"  she  said.  "  I  must  be  going 
home  now." 


ioo  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  No,  you  won't  just  yet,"  he  answered.  He  came  up 
and  laid  his  dirty  hand  on  her  white  sleeve. 

"  No,  don't  touch  me,"  said  Nora  proudly.  She  sprang 
off  the  gate,  and  stood  a  foot  or  two  away.  "  Don't  come 
in,"  she  continued ;  "  stay  where  you  are.  If  you  have 
anything  to  say,  say  it  there." 

"  Bedad !  it's  a  fine  young  lady  that  it  is,"  said  the  man. 
"  It  aint  afeared,  is  it?  " 

"  Afraid !  "  said  Nora.     "  What  do  you  take  me  for?  " 

"  Sure,  then,  I  take  yez  for  what  you  are,"  said  the 
man — "  as  fine  and  purty  a  slip  of  a  girleen  as  ever  dwelt 
in  the  old  Castle;  but  be  yez  twice  as  purty,  and  be  yez 
twice  as  fine,  Andy  Neil  is  not  the  man  to  forget 
his  word,  his  sworn  word,  his  oath  taken  to  the 
powers  above  and  the  powers  below,  that  if  his  bit 
of  a  roof  is  taken  off  his  head,  why,  them  as  does 
it  shall  suffer.  It's  for  you  to  know  that,  Miss 
Nora.  I  would  have  drowned  yez  in  the  deep  pool 
and  nobody  would  ever  be  the  wiser,  but  I  thought 
better  of  that ;  and  I  could  here — yes,  even  now — I  could 
choke  yez  round  your  pretty  soft  neck  and  nobody  would 
be  any  the  wiser,  and  I'd  think  no  more  of  it  than  I'd  think 
of  crushing  a  fly.  I  won't  do  it ;  no  I  won't,  Miss  Nora ; 
but  there's  thim  as  will  have  to  suffer  if  Andy  Neil  is 
turned  out  of  his  hut.  You  spake  for  me,  Miss  Nora ; 
you  spake  up  for  me,  girleen.  Why,  the  Squire,  you're 
the  light  of  his  eyes ;  you  spake  up,  and  say,  '  Lave  poor 
Andy  in  his  little  hut ;  lave  poor  Andy  with  a  roof  over 
him.  Don't  mind  the  bit  of  a  rint.'  Why,  then,  Miss 
Nora,  how  can  I  pay  the  rint?  Look  at  my  arrum,  dear." 
As  the  man  spoke  he  thrust  out  his  arm,  pushing  up  his 
ragged  shirt  sleeve.  The  arm  was  almost  like  that  of  a 
skeleton's ;  the  skin  was  starting  over  the  bones. 

"  Oh,  it  is  dreadful !  "  said  Nora,  all  the  pity  in  her 


THE  DIAMOND   CROSS.  101 

heart  welling  up  into  her  eyes.  "  I  am  truly,  truly  sorry 
for  you,  Andy.  I  would  do  anything  in  my  power.  It 
is  just  this:  you  know  father?  " 

"  Squire?     Yes,  I  guess  I  know  Squire,"  said  the  man. 

"  You  know,"  continued  Nora,  "  that  when  he  takes 
what  you  might  call  the  bit  between  his  teeth  nothing  will 
move  him.  He  is  set  against  you,  Andy.  Oh,  Andy!  I 
don't  believe  he  will  listen." 

"  He  had  betther,"  said  the  man,  his  voice  dropping  to  a 
low  growl ;  "  he  had  betther,  and  I  say  so  plain.  There's 
that  in  me  would  stick  at  nothing,  and  you  had  best  know 
it,  Miss  Nora." 

"  Can  you  not  go  away,  Andy  ?  " 

"  I— and  what  for  ?  " 

"  But  can  you  ?  " 

"  I  could,  but  I  won't." 

"  I  don't  believe  father  will  yield.  I  will  send  you  some 
money  from  England  if  you  will  promise  to  go  away." 

"  Aye ;  but  I  don't  want  it.  I  want  to  stay  on.  Where 
would  my  old  bones  lie  when  I  died  if  I  am  not  in  my 
own  counthry?  I'm  not  going  to  leave  my  coun- 
thry  for  nobody.  The  cot  where  I  was  born  shall  see 
me  die;  and  if  the  roof  is  took  off,  why,  I'll  put  it  back 
again.  I'll  defy  him  and  his  new-fangled  ways  and  his 
English  wife  to  the  death.  You'll  see  mischief  if  you 
don't  put  things  right,  Miss  Nora.  It  all  rests  with  yez, 
alannah." 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry  for  you,  Andy ;  but  I  don't  believe 
you  would  seriously  injure  father,  for  you  know  what 
the  consequences  would  be." 

"  Aye ;  but  when  a  man  like  me  is  sore  put  to  it  he  don't 
think  of  consequences.  It's  just  the  burning  wish  to 
avenge  his  wrongs ;  that'?  what  he  feels,  and  that's  what  I 
feel,  Miss  Nora,  and  so  you  had  best  take  warning." 


102  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

"  Well,  I  am  going  away  to-morrow,"  said  the  girl. 
"  My  father  is  in  great  trouble,  and  wants  money  very 
badly  himself,  and  I  am  going  to  England." 

"  To  be  out  of  the  way  when  the  ruin  comes.  I  know," 
said  the  man,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  No ;  you  are  utterly  mistaken.  Andy,  don't  you  re- 
member when  I  was  a  little  girl  how  you  used  to  let  me 
ride  on  your  shoulder,  and  once  you  asked  me  for  a  tiny 
bit  of  my  hair,  that  time  when  it  was  all  in  curls,  and  I 
gave  you  just  the  end  of  one  of  my  curls,  and  you  said 
you  would  keep  it  to  your  dying  day?  Would  you  be 
cruel  to  Nora  now,  and  just  when  her  heart  is  heavy?  " 

"Your  heart  heavy?  You,  one  of  the  quality — 'taint 
likely,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  is  true;  my  heart  is  very  heavy.  I  am  so  anxious 
about  father;  you  won't  make  me  more  anxious — will 
you?  You  won't  do  anything — anything  wrong — while 
I  am  away?  Will  you  make  me  a  promise  that  you  will 
let  me  go  with  an  easy  mind  ?  " 

"  You  ask  your  father  to  give  me  three  months'  longer 
grace,  and  then  we'll  see." 

"  I  will  speak  to  him,"  said  Nora  very  slowly.  "  I  am 
sorry,  because  he  is  worried  about  other  things,  and  he 
does  not  take  it  kindly  when  I  interfere  in  what  he  con- 
siders his  own  province;  but  I'll  do  my  best.  I  cannot 
stay  another  moment  now,  Andy.     Good-by." 

She  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  ran  down  the  avenue, 
looking  like  a  white  wraith  as  she  disappeared  into  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A   FEATHER-BED   HOUSE. 

Before  she  went  to  sleep  that  night  Nora  wrote  a  tiny 
note  to  her  father : 

"  Dearest  Dad  : 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  Light  o'  the  Morning,  leave  poor 
Andy  Neil  in  his  little  cottage  until  I  come  back  again 
from  England.  Do,  dear  dad;  this  is  the  last  wish  of 
Nora  before  she  goes  away. 

"  Your  Colleen." 

She  thought  and  thought,  and  felt  that  she  could  not 
have  expressed  herself  better.  Fear  would  never  influ- 
ence the  Squire ;  but  he  would  do  a  good  deal  for  Nora. 
She  laid  the  letter  just  where  she  knew  he  would  see  it 
when  he  entered  his  ramshackle  study  on  the  following 
day ;  and  the  next  morning,  with  her  arms  clasped  round 
his  neck  and  her  kisses  on  his  cheeks,  she  gave  him  one 
hearty  hug,  one  fervent  "  God  bless  you,  dad,"  and 
rushed  after  her  mother. 

The  outside  car  was  ready  at  the  door.  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan  was  already  mounted.  Nora  sprang  up,  and  they 
were  rattling  off  into  the  world,  "  to  seek  my  fortune," 
thought  the  girl,  "  or  rather  the  fortune  of  him.  I  love 
best." 

The  Squire,  with  his  grizzled  locks  and  his  deep-set 
eyes,  stood  in  the  porch  to  watch  Nora  and  her  mother  as 
they  drove  away. 

103 


104  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

u  I'll  be  back  in  a  twinkling,  father;  never  you  fret," 
called  out  his  daughter,  and  then  a  turn  in  the  road  hid 
him  from  view. 

"Why,  Nora,  what  are  you  crying  for?"  said  her 
mother,  who  turned  round  at  that  moment,  and  encoun- 
tered the  full  gaze  of  the  large  dark-blue  eyes  swimming 
in  tears. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  moment,"  was  the 
answer,  and  then  the  sunshine  broke  all  over  the  girl's 
charming  face;  and  before  they  reached  the  railway  sta- 
tion Xora  was  chatting  to  her  mother  as  if  she  had  not 
a  care  in  the  world. 

Her  first  visit  to  Dublin  and  the  excitement  of  getting 
really  pretty  dresses  made  the  next  two  or  three  days  pass 
like  a  flash.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  with  money  in  her 
pocket  was  a  very  different  woman  from  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan without  a  penny.  She  enjoyed  making  Xora  pre- 
sentable, and  had  excellent  taste  and  a  keen  eye  for  a  bar- 
gain. She  fitted  up  her  daughter  with  a  modest  but  suc- 
cessful wardrobe,  bought  her  a  proper  trunk  to  hold  her 
belongings,  and  saw  her  on  board  the  steamer  for  Holy- 
head. 

The  crossing  was  a  rough  one,  but  the  Irish  girl  did 
not  suffer  from  seasickness.  She  stood  leaning  over  the 
taffrail  chatting  to  the  captain,  who  thought  her  one  of 
the  most  charming  passengers  he  ever  had  to  cross  in  the 
Minister ;  and  when  they  arrived  at  the  opposite  side,  Mr. 
Hartrick  was  waiting  for  his  niece.  He  often  said  since 
that  he  would  never  forget  his  first  sight  of  Nora  O'Shan- 
aghgan. She  was  wearing  a  gray  tweed  traveling  dress, 
with  a  little  gray  cap  to  match ;  the  slender  young  figure, 
the  rippling  black  hair,  and  the  brilliant  face  flashed  for 
an  instant  on  the  tired  vision  of  the  man  of  business ;  then 
there  came  the  eager  outstretching  of  two  hands,  and 


A   FEATHER-BED  HOUSE  105 

Nora  had  kissed  him  because  she  could  not  help  her- 
self. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Uncle  George !  "  The 
words,  the  action,  the  whole  look  were  totally  different 
from  what  his  daughters  would  have  said  or  done  under 
similar  circumstances.  He  felt  quite  sure  that  his  sister's 
description  of  Nora  was  right  in  the  main ;  but  he  thought 
her  charming.  Drawing  her  hand  through  his  arm,  he 
took  her  to  the  railway  station,  where  the  train  was  al- 
ready waiting  to  receive  its  passengers.  Soon  they  were 
flying  in  The  Wild  Irish  Girl  to  Euston.  Nora  was  pro- 
vided with  innumerable  illustrated  papers.  Mr.  Hartrick 
took  out  a  little  basket  which  contained  sandwiches,  wine, 
and  different  cakes,  and  fed  her  with  the  best  he  could 
procure.  He  did  not  ask  her  many  questions,  not  even 
about  the  Castle  or  her  own  life.  He  was  determined  to 
wait  for  all  these  things.  He  read  something  of  her  story 
in  her  clear  blue  eyes ;  but  he  would  not  press  her  for  her 
confidence.     He  was  anxious  to  know  her  a  little  better. 

"  She  is  Irish,  though,  and  they  all  exaggerate  things 
so  dreadfully,"  was  his  thought.  "  But  I'll  be  very  good 
to  the  child.  What  a  contrast  she  is  to  Terence!  Not 
that  Terence  is  scarcely  Irish ;  but  anyone  can  see  that  this 
child  has  more  of  her  father  than  her  mother  in  her  com- 
position." 

They  arrived  at  Euston ;  then  there  were  fresh  changes  ; 
a  cab  took  them  to  Waterloo,  where  they  once  again  en- 
tered the  train. 

"  Tired,  my  dear  niece  ?  "  said  her  uncle  as  he  settled 
her  for  the  final  time  in  another  first-class  compartment. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  too  excited  to  be  tired,"  was  her 
eager  answer.  And  then  he  smiled  at  her,  arranged  the 
window  and  blind  to  her  liking,  and  they  started  once  more 
on  their  way. 


106  LIGHT  <T    THE  MORNING. 

Mr.  Hartrick  lived  in  a  large  place  near  Weybridge, 
and  Nora  had  her  first  glimpse  of  the  lovely  Surrey  scen- 
ery. A  carriage  was  waiting  for  the  travelers  when  they 
reached  their  destination — a  carriage  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
spirited  grays.  Nora  thought  of  Black  Bess,  and  secretly 
compared  the  grays  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter.  But 
she  was  determined  to  be  as  sweet  and  polite  and  English 
as  her  mother  would  desire.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
whole  existence  she  was  feeling  a  little  shy.  She  would 
have  been  thoroughly  at  home  on  a  dog  cart,  or  on  her 
favorite  outside  car,  or  on  the  back  of  Black  Bess,  who 
would  have  carried  her  swift  as  the  wind ;  but  in  the  lan- 
dau, with  her  uncle  seated  by  her  side,  she  was  altogether 
at  a  loss. 

"  I  don't  like  riches,"  was  her  inward  murmur.  "  I  feel 
all  in  silken  chains,  and  it  is  not  a  bit  pleasant;  but  how 
dear  mammy — oh,  I  must  think  of  her  as  mother — how 
mother  would  enjoy  it  all !  " 

The  horses  were  going  slowly  uphill,  and  now  they 
paused  at  some  handsome  iron  gates.  These  were  opened 
by  a  neatly  dressed  woman,  who  courtesied  to  Mr.  Hart- 
rick, and  glanced  with  curiosity  at  Nora.  The  carriage 
bowled  rapidly  down  a  long  avenue,  and  drew  up  before 
a  front  door.  A  large  mastiff  rose  slowly,  wagged  his 
tail,  and  sniffed  at  Nora's  dress  as  she  descended. 

"  Come  in,  my  dear;  come  in,"  said  her  uncle.  "  We 
are  too  late  for  dinner,  but  I  have  ordered  supper.  You 
will  want  a  good  meal  and  then  bed.  Where  are  all 
the  others?  Where  are  you,  Molly?  Where  are  you, 
Linda?     Your  Irish  cousin  Nora  has  come." 

A  door  to  the  left  was  quickly  opened,  and  a  graceful- 
looking  lady,  in  a  beautiful  dress  of  black  silk  and  quan- 
tities of  coffee  lace,  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  Is  this  Nora?  "  she  said.     "  Wrelcome,  mv  dear  little 


A   FEATHER-BED  HOUSE.  107 

girl."  She  went  up  to  Nora,  laid  one  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  kissed  her  gravely  on  the  forehead.  There 
was  a  staid,  sober  sort  of  solemnity  about  this  kiss  which 
influenced  Nora  and  made  a  lump  come  into  her  throat. 

This  gracious  English  lady  was  very  charming,  and  she 
felt  at  once  that  she  would  love  her. 

"  The  child  is  tired,  Grace,"  said  her  husband  to  Mrs. 
Hartrick.  "  Where  are  the  giris  ?  Why  are  they  not 
present?  " 

"  Molly  has  been  very  troublesome,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  send  her  to  her  room,"  was  her  reply ;  "  but  here  is 
Terence.     Terence,  your  sister  has  come." 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  cried  Nora. 

The  next  moment  Terence,  in  full  evening  dress,  and 
looking  extremely  manly  and  handsome,  appeared  upon 
the  scene.  Nora  forgot  everything  else  when  she  saw  the 
familiar  face;  she  ran  up  to  her  brother,  flung  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  over  and  over. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  to  see  you !  "  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  Terry,  how  glad,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are  here !  " 

"  Hush !  hush !  Nonsense,  Nora.  Try  to  remember 
this  is  an  English  house,"  whispered  Terence;  but  he 
kissed  her  affectionately.  He  was  glad  to  see  her,  and  he 
looked  at  her  dress  with  marked  approval.  "  She  will 
soon  tame  down,  and  she  looks  very  pretty,"  was  his 
thought. 

Just  then  Linda  was  seen  coming  downstairs. 

"  Has  Nora  come  ?  "  called  out  her  sweet,  high-bred 
voice.  "  How  do  you  do,  Nora  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you. 
If  you  are  half  as  nice  as  Terence,  you  will  be  a  delightful 
addition  to  our  party." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  not  the  least  bit  like  Terence."  said 
Nora.     She  felt  rather  hurt;  she  did  not  know  why. 

Linda  was  a  very  fair  girl.     She  could  not  have  been 


108  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

more  than  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  was  not  so  tall  as 
Nora ;  but  she  had  almost  the  manners  of  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and  Nora  felt  unaccountably  shy  of  her. 

"  Xow  take  your  cousin  up  to  her  room.  Supper  will 
be  ready  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 
"  Come,  George ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hartrick  disappeared  into  the  drawing- 
room.  Linda  took  Nora's  hand.  Nora  glanced  at  Ter- 
ence, who  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  away. 

"  See  you  presently,  sis,"  he  called  out  in  what  he  con- 
sidered a  very  manly  tone ;  and  Nora  felt  her  heart,  as  she 
expressed  it,  sink  down  into  her  boots  as  she  followed 
Linda  up  the  richly  carpeted  stairs.  Her  feet  sank  into 
the  velvety  pile,  and  she  hated  the  sensation. 

"  It  is  all  a  sort  of  feather-bed  house,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  and  I  hate  a  feather-bed  house.  Oh,  I  can  under- 
stand my  dad  better  than  ever  to-night ;  but  how  mother 
would  enjoy  this !  " 


CHAPTER    XIII. 
"  there's   molly/' 

As  they  were  going  upstairs  Linda  suddenly  turned  and 
looked  full  at  her  cousin. 

"  How  very  grave  you  are !  And  why  have  you  that 
little  frown  between  your  brows?  Are  you  vexed  about 
anything?  " 

"  Only  I  thought  Terry  would  be  more  glad  to  see  me," 
replied  Nora. 

"  More  glad !  "  cried  Linda.  "  I  saw  you  hugging  him 
as  I  ran  downstairs.  He  let  you.  I  don't  know  how  any 
one  could  show  gladness  more.  But  come  along;  this 
is  your  room.  It  is  next  to  Molly's  and  mine.  Isn't  it 
pretty?  Molly  and  I  chose  it  for  you  this  morning,  and 
we  arranged  those  flowers.  You  will  have  such  a  lovely 
view,  and  that  little  peep  of  the  Thames  is  so  charming. 
I  hope  you  will  like  your  room." 

Nora  entered  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  lovely  bed- 
rooms she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life.  Never  in  her  wildest 
dreams  had  she  imagined  anything  so  cozy.  The  per- 
fectly chosen  furniture,  the  elegant  appointments  of  every 
sort  and  description,  the  view  from  the  partly  opened 
windows,  the  view  of  winding  river  and  noble  trees — all 
looked  rich  and  cultivated  and  lovely;  and  the  Irish  girl, 
as  she  gazed  around,  found  suddenly  a  great,  fierce  hatred 
rising  up  in  her  heart  against  what  she  called  the  mere 
prettiness.  She  turned  and  faced  Linda,  who  was  watch- 
ing her  with  curiosity  in  her  somewhat  small  blue  eyes 

109 


HO  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Linda  was  essentially  English,  very  reserved  and  quiet, 
very  self-possessed,  quite  a  young  lady  of  the  world.  She 
looked  at  Nora  as  if  she  meant  to  read  her  through. 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  the  view  perfect?  "  she  said. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  Ireland  ?  "  was  Nora's  an- 
swer. 

"  Never.  Oh,  dear  me !  have  you  anything  as  pretty 
as  this  in  Ireland?  " 

"  No,"  said  Nora  fiercely — "no."  She  left  the  window, 
turned  back,  and  began  to  unpin  her  hat. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  did  not  care  for  your  room." 

"  It  is  a  very,  very  pretty  room,"  said  Nora,  "  and  the 
view  is  very,  very  pretty,  but  I  am  tired  to-night.  I  did 
not  know  it ;  but  I  am.  I  should  like  to  go  to  bed 
soon." 

"  So  you  shall,  of  course,  after  you  have  had  supper. 
Oh,  how  awfully  thoughtless  of  me  not  to  know  that  you 
must  be  very  tried  and  hungry!  Molly  and  I  are  glad 
you  have  come." 

"  But  where  is  Molly?    I  should  like  to  see  her." 

Linda  went  up  to  Nora  and  spoke  in  a  low  whisper. 

"  She  is  in  disgrace." 

"  In  disgrace?    Has  she  done  anything  naughty?  " 

"  Yes,  fearfully  naughty.  She  is  in  hot  water  as 
usual." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Nora.  She  instantly  began  to  feel 
a  strong  sensation  of  sympathy  for  Molly.  She  was  sure, 
in  advance,  that  she  would  like  her. 

"  But  is  she  in  such  dreadful  disgrace  that  I  may  not 
see  her?  "  she  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     I  don't  suppose  so." 

Just  then  there  was  heard  at  the  room  door  a  gay 
laugh  and  a  kind  of  scamper.  A  knock  followed,  but 
before  Nora  could  answer  the  door  was  burst  open,  and 


"  THERE'S  MOLLY r  III 

a  large,  heavily  made,  untidy-looking  girl,  with  a  dark 
face  and  great  big  black  eyes,  bounded  into  the  apart- 
ment. 

"  I  have  burst  the  bonds,  and  here  I  am,"  she  said. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Nora?  I'm  Molly.  I  am  always  and 
always  in  hot  water.  I  like  being  in  hot  water.  Xow, 
tell-tale-tit,  you  can  go  downstairs  and  acquaint  mother 
with  the  fact  that  I  have  burst  the  bonds,  for  kiss  little 
Irish  Nora  I  will." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Nora.  Her  depres- 
sion vanished  on  the  spot.  She  felt  that,  naughty  as 
doubtless  Molly  was,  she  could  get  on  with  her. 

"  Come,  let's  take  a  squint  at  you,"  said  the  eldest  Miss 
Hartrick ;  "  come  over  here  to  the  light." 

Molly  took  Nora  by  both  hands  over  to  the  window. 

"  Now  then,  let's  have  a  category  of  your  charms. 
Terence  has  been  telling  us  that  you  are  very  pretty. 
You  are.  Come,  Linda;  come  and  look  at  her.  Did 
you  ever  see  such  black  hair?  And  it's  as  soft  as 
silk." 

Molly  put  up  a  rather  large  hand  and  patted  Xora 
somewhat  violently  on  the  head. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  said  Nora,  starting  back. 

"  My  dear  little  cousin,  I  am  a  very  rough  specimen, 
and  you  must  put  up  with  me  if  you  mean  to  get  on  at 
The  Laurels.  We  are  all  stiff  and  staid  here ;  we  are 
English  of  the  English.  Everything  is  done  by  rule  of 
thumb — breakfast  to  the  minute,  lunch  to  the  minute, 
afternoon  tea  to  the  minute,  dinner  to  the  minute,  even 
tennis  to  the  minute.  Oh !  it's  detestable ;  and  I — I  am 
expected  to  be  good,  and  you  know  there's  not  a  bit  of 
goodness  in  me.  I  am  all  fidgets,  and  you  can  never  be 
sure  of  me  for  two  seconds  at  a  time.  I  am  a  worry  to 
mother  and  a  worry  to  father ;  and  as  to  Terence — oh,  my 


H2  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

dear  creature,  I  am  so  truly  thankful  you  are  not  like  Ter- 
ence !  Here  I  drop  a  courtesy  to  his  memory.  What  an 
awfully  precise  man  he  will  make  by  and  by!  I  did 
not  know  you  turned  out  that  kind  of  article  in  Ire- 
land." 

Nora's  face,  over  which  many  emotions  had  been  flit- 
ting, now  looked  grave. 

"  You  know  that  Terence  is  my  brother  ?"  she  said 
slowly. 

Molly  gazed  at  her;  then  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  hearty 
laughter. 

"  You  and  I  will  get  on,"  she  said.  "  I  like  you  for 
sticking  up  for  your  brother.  But  now,  my  dear,  I  must 
go  back.  I  am  supposed  to  stay  in  my  bedroom  until 
to-morrow  morning.  Linda,  if  you  tell — well,  you'll  have 
to  answer  to  me  when  we  are  going  to  bed,  that's  all.  By- 
by,  Xora.  I'll  see  you  in  the  morning.  Do  get  her  some 
hot  water,  Linda.  She's  worth  waiting  on ;  she's  a  very 
nice  sort  of  child,  and  very,  very  pretty.  If  that  is  the 
Irish  sort  of  face,  I  for  one  shall  adore  it.  Good-by, 
Nora,  for  the  present." 

Molly  banged  herself  away — her  mode  of  exit  could 
scarcely  be  called  by  any  other  name.  As  soon  as  the 
door  had  closed  behind  her  Linda  laughed. 

"  I  ought  to  tell,  you  know,"  she  said  in  her  precise 
voice ;  "  it  is  very,  very  wrong  of  Molly  to  leave  her  bed- 
room when  mother  is  punishing  her." 

"But  what  has  she  done  wrong?"  asked  Xora. 

"  Oh,  went  against  discipline.  She  is  at  school,  you 
know,  and  she  would  write  letters  during  lessons.  It  is 
really  very  wrong  of  her,  and  Miss  Scott  had  to  com- 
plain ;  so  mother  said  she  should  stay  in  her  room,  in- 
stead of  being  downstairs  to  welcome  you.  She  is  a  good 
soul  enough;  but  we  none  of  us  can  discipline  her.     She 


■■  THERE'S  MOLL  Y. "  113 

is  very  funny ;  you'll  see  a  lot  of  her  queer  cranks  while 
you  are  here." 

"How  old  is  she?"  asked  Nora. 

"  Between  sixteen  and  seventeen ;  too  old  to  be  such  a 
romp." 

"  Only  a  little  older  than  I  am,"  said  Nora.  "  And  how 
old  are  you,  Linda  ?  " 

"  Fifteen ;  they  all  tell  me  I  look  more." 

"  You  do ;  you  look  eighteen.  You  are  very  old  for 
your  age." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  for  the  compliment.  Now,  then,  do 
brush  your  hair  and  wash  your  hands ;  there's  the  sup- 
per-gong. Mother  will  be  annoyed  if  we  are  not  down 
in  a  jiffy.    Now,  do  be  quick." 

Nora  washed  her  hands,  brushed  her  hair,  and  ran 
downstairs  with  her  cousin.  As  she  ate  during  the  some- 
what stiff  meal  that  followed  she  thought  many  times 
of  Molly.  She  felt  that,  naughty  as  Molly  doubtless  was, 
she  would  make  the  English  house  tolerable.  Terence 
sat  near  her  at  supper,  by  way  of  extending  to  her  broth- 
erly attentions ;  but  all  the  time  he  was  talking  on  sub- 
jects of  local  interest  to  his  aunt  and  uncle. 

Mr.  Hartrick  evidently  thought  Terence  a  very  clever 
fellow,  and  listened  to  his  remarks  with  a  deference  which 
Nora  thought  by  no  means  good  for  him. 

"  He  wants  one  of  the  dear  old  dad's  downright  snubs," 
wTas  her  inward  comment.  "  I  must  have  a  talk  with  him 
to-morrow.  If  he  progresses  at  this  rate  toward  English 
refinement  he  will  be  unbearable  at  O'Shanaghgan  when 
he  returns ;  quite,  quite  unbearable.  Oh,  for  a  sniff  of  the 
sea !  oh,  for  the  wTild,  wild  wind  on  my  cheeks !  and  oh,  for 
my  dear,  darling,  bare  bedroom !  I  shall  be  smothered 
in  that  heavily  furnished  room  upstairs.  Oh,  it  is  all 
lovely,  I  know — very  lovely;  but  I'm  not  made  to  enjoy 


*M  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

it.  I  belong  to  the  free,  and  I  don't  feel  free  here.  The 
silken  chains  and  the  feather-bed  life  won't  suit  me;  of 
that  I  am  quite  sure.  Thank  goodness,  however,  there's 
Molly ;  she  is  in  a  state  of  rebellion,  too.  I  must  not 
sympathize  with  her ;  but  I  am  truly  glad  she  is  here." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

BITS    OF    SLANG. 

Early  the  next  morning  Nora  was  awakened  from  a 
somewhat  heavy  sleep  by  someone  pulling  her  violently 
by  the  arm. 

"  Wake  up !  wake  up !  "  said  a  voice ;  and  then  Nora, 
who  had  been  dreaming  of  her  father,  and  also  of  Andy 
Neil,  started  up,  crying  as  she  did  so,  "  Oh,  don't,  Andy ! 
I  know  father  will  let  you  stay  a  little  longer  in  the  cot. 
Don't,  don't,  Andy  !  " 

"  Who,  in  the  name  of  fortune,  is  Andy  ?  "  called  the 
clear  voice  of  Molly  Hartrick.  "  Do  wake  up,  Nora,  and 
don't  look  so  dazed.  You  really  are  a  most  exciting  per- 
son to  have  staying  in  the  house.  Who  is  Andy,  and  what 
cot  are  you  going  to  turn  him  out  of  ?    Is  he  a  baby  ?  " 

Nora  now  began  to  laugh. 

"  I  quite  forgot  that  I  was  in  England,"  she  said.    "  Am 

I  really  in  England  ?    Are  you — are  you Oh,  now  I 

remember  everything.  You  are  Molly  Hartrick.  What 
is  the  hour?    Is  it  late?    Have  I  missed  breakfast?  " 

"  Bless  you,  child !  lie  down  and  keep  quiet ;  it's  not 
more  than  six  o'clock.  I  wanted  to  see  some  more  of 
you  all  by  myself.  I  am  out  of  punishment  now;  it 
ended  at  midnight,  and  I  am  as  free  as  anybody  else ;  but 
as  it  is  extremely  likely  I  shall  be  back  in  punishment  by 
the  evening,  I  thought  we  would  have  a  little  chat  while 
I  was  able  to  have  it.  Just  make  way  for  me  in  your  bed ; 
I'll  nestle  up  close  to  you,  and  we'll  be  ever  so  jolly.* 

"  Oh,  do,"  said  Nora,  in  a  hearty  tone. 

"5 


Ii6  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Molly  scrambled  in,  taking  the  lion's  share  of  the  bed. 
Nora  lay  on  the  edge. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  facing  the  light,  for  I  can  examine 
your  features  well,"  said  Molly.  "  You  certainly  are 
very  nice-looking.  How  prettily  your  eyebrows  are 
arched,  and  what  white  teeth  you  have!  And,  although 
you  have  that  wonderful  black  hair,  you  have  a  fair 
skin,  and  your  cheeks  have  just  enough  color;  not  too 
much.     I  hate  florid  people;  but  you  are  just  perfect." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  flatter  me,  Molly,"  said  Nora; 
"  nobody  flatters  me  in  Ireland." 

"  They  don't  ?  But  I  thought  they  were  a  perfect  nation 
of  flatterers.    I  am  sure  it  is  always  said  of  them." 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  the  poor  people,"  said  Nora ;  "  they 
make  pretty  speeches,  but  nobody  thinks  anything  about 
that.  Everybody  makes  pretty  speeches  to  everybody  else, 
except  when  we  are  having  a  violent  scold  by  way  of  a 
change." 

"  How  delicious !  "  said  Molly.  "  And  what  sort  of 
house  have  you  ?    Like  this  ?  " 

"  No,  not  the  least  like  this,"  answered  Nora. 

"  With  what  emphasis  you  speak.  Do  you  know  that 
father  told  me  you  lived  in  a  beautiful  place,  a  castle 
hanging  over  the  sea,  and  that  your  mountains  and  your 
sea  and  your  old  castle  were  things  to  be  proud  of?  " 

"Did  he?  Did  your  father  really  say  that?"  asked 
Nora.  She  sat  up  on  her  elbow ;  her  eyes  were  shining ; 
they  assumed  a  look  which  Nora's  eyes  often  wore  when 
she  was,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  seeing  things  out  of  her 
head."  Far-off  castles  in  the  clouds  would  Nora  look  at 
then ;  rainbow-tinted  were  they,  and  their  summits 
reached  heaven.  Molly  gazed  at  her  with  deepening  in- 
terest. 

"  Yes,  Nora,"  she  said ;  "  he  did  say  it.     He  told  me 


BITS  OF  SLANG.  117 

so  before  Terence  came;  but  I — do  forgive  me — I  don't 
care  for  Terence." 

"  You  must  not  talk  against  him  to  me,"  said  Nora, 
"because  he  happens  to  be  my  brother;  but  I'll  just 
whisper  one  thing  back  to  you,  Molly — if  he  was  not  my 
brother  he  would  not  suit  me." 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  say  that !  We  shall  get  on  splen- 
didly. Of  course,  you  must  stick  up  for  him,  being  your 
brother ;  he  stuck  up  for  you  before  you  came.  It  is  very- 
nice  and  loyal  of  you,  and  I  quite  understand.  But,  dear 
me!  I  am  not  likely  to  see  much  of  you  while  you  are 
here." 

"  Why  not?    Are  you  not  going  to  stay  here?  " 

"Oh,  my  dear,  yes;  I'll  stay.  School  has  just  begun 
over  again,  you  know,  and  I  am  always  in  hot  water.  I 
cannot  help  it;  it  is  a  sort  of  way  of  mine.  This  is  the 
kind  of  way  I  live.  Breakfast  every  morning ;  then  a  lec- 
ture from  mother  or  from  father.  Off  I  go  in  low  spirits, 
with  a  great,  sore  heart  inside  me ;  then  comes  the  hateful 
discipline  of  school ;  and  every  day  I  get  into  disgrace. 
I  have  a  lot  of  lessons  returned,  and  am  low  down  in  my 
class,  instead  of  high  up,  and  am  treated  from  first  to  last 
as  a  naughty  child.  By  the  middle  of  the  day  I  am  a  very 
naughty  child  indeed." 

"  But  you  are  not  a  child  at  all,  Molly ;  you  are  a  wo- 
man.   Why,  you  are  older  than  I." 

"  Oh,  what  have  years  to  do  with  it  ? "  interrupted 
Molly.  "  I  shall  be  a  child  all  my  days,  I  tell  you.  I 
shall  never  be  really  old.  I  like  mischief  and  insubordi- 
nation, and — and — let  me  whisper  it  to  you,  little  Nora — 
vulgarity.  Yes,  I  do  love  to  be  vulgar.  I  like  shocking 
mother;  I  like  shocking  father.  Since  Terence  came  I 
have  had  rare  fun  shocking  him.  I  have  learned  a  lot  of 
slang,  and  whenever  I  see  Terence  I  shout  it  at  him.    He 


Il8  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

has  got  quite  nervous  lately,  and  avoids  me.  He  likes 
Linda  awfully,  but  he  avoids  me.  But,  to  go  on  with 
my  day.  I  am  back  from  school  to  early  dinner,  gener- 
ally in  disgrace.  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak  at  dinner. 
Back  again  I  go  to  school,  and  I  am  home,  or  supposed 
to  be  home,  at  half-past  four ;  but  not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear ; 
I  don't  get  home  till  about  six,  because  I  am  kept  in  to 
learn  my  lessons.  It  is  disgraceful,  of  course ;  but  it  is  a 
fact.  Then  back  I  come,  and  mother  has  a  talk  with  me. 
However  busy  mother  may  be,  and  she  is  a  very  busy 
woman,  Xora — you  will  soon  find  that  out — she  always 
has  time  to  find  out  if  I  have  done  anything  naughty ;  and, 
as  fibs  are  not  any  of  my  accomplishments,  I  always  tell 
her  the  truth  ;  and  then  what  do  you  think  happens  ?  An 
evening  quite  to  myself  in  my  bedroom ;  my  dinner  sent 
up  to  me  there,  and  I  eating  it  in  solitary  state.  They 
are  all  accustomed  to  it.  They  open  their  eyes  and  al- 
most glare  at  me  when  by  a  mere  chance  I  do  come  down 
to  dinner.  They  are  quite  uncomfortable,  because,  you 
see,  I  am  waiting  my  opportunity  to  fire  slang  at  one  of 
them.  I  always  do,  and  always  will.  I  never  could  fit 
into  the  dull  life  of  the  English." 

"  You  must  be  Irish,  really,"  said  Nora. 

"You  don't  say  so!  But  I  am  afraid  I  am  not.  I 
would  give  all  the  world  to  be,  but  am  quite  certain  I  am 
not.  There,  now,  of  course  I'd  be  awfully  scolded  if  it 
was  found  out  that  I  had  awakened  you  at  this  hour, 
and  had  confided  my  little  history  to  you.  I  am  over 
sixteen.  I  shall  be  seventeen  in  ten  months'  time.  And 
that  is  my  history,  insubordination  from  first  to  last.  I 
don't  suppose  anybody  really  likes  me,  unless  it  is  poor 
Annie  Jefferson  at  school." 

"  Who  is  Annie  Jefferson,  Molly?" 

"  A  very  shabby  sort  of  girl,  who  is  always  in  hot 


BITS  OF  SLANG.  119 

water  too.  I  have  taken  to  her,  and  she  just  adores  me. 
There  is  no  one  else  who  loves  me;  and  she,  poor  child, 
would  not  be  admitted  inside  these  walls ;  she  is  not  aris- 
tocratic enough.  Dear  me,  Nora!  it  is  wrong  of  me  to 
give  you  all  this  information  so  soon ;  and  don't  look  anx- 
ious about  me,  little  goose,  for  I  have  taken  an  enormous 
fancy  to  you." 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Xora  after  a  pause, 
"  if  you  will  never  tell  again." 

"  Oh,  a  secret ! "  said  Molly.  "  Tell  it  out,  Xora.  I 
love  secrets.  I'll  never  betray ;  I  have  no  friends  to  be- 
tray them  to.  You  may  tell  me  with  all  the  heart  in  the 
world." 

"  Well,  it  is  this,"  said  Nora ;  "  we  are  not  at  all  rich 
at  home.  We  are  poor,  and  have  no  luxuries  and  the 
dear  old  house  is  very  bare;  and,  oh!  but,  Molly,  there 
is  no  place  like  it — no  place  like  it.  It's  worth  all  the 
world  to  me ;  and  when  I  came  here  last  night,  and  saw 
your  great,  rich,  beautiful  house,  I — I  quite  hated  it,  and 
I  almost  hated  Linda  too;  and  even  my  uncle,  who  has 
been  so  kind,  I  could  not  get  up  one  charitable  thought 
for  him,  nor  for  your  mother,  who  is  such  a  beautiful, 
gracious  lady ;  and  even  Terence — oh  !  Terry  seemed  quite 
English.  Oh,  I  was  miserable!  But  when  I  saw  you, 
Molly,  I  said  to  myself,  '  There  is  one  person  who  will 
fit  me  ' ;  and — oh,  don't  Molly !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Only,  if  you  say  another  word  I  shall  squeeze  you  to 
death  in  the  hug  I  am  giving  you,"  said  Molly.  Her 
arms  were  flung  tightly  round  Nora's  neck.  She  kissed 
her  passionately  three  or  four  times. 

"  We'll  be  friends.  I'll  stick  up  for  you  through  thick 
and  thin,"  said  Molly.  "  And  now  I'm  off ;  for  if  Linda 
caught  me  woe  betide  me." 

"  One  word  before  you  go,  Molly,"  called  out  Nora. 


120  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Yes,"  said  Molly,  standing  at  the  door. 

"  Try  to  keep  straight  to-day,  for  my  sake,  for  I  shall 
want  to  say  a  great  deal  to  you  to-night." 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  I  will,"  answered  Molly.  "  Now  then, 
off  I  go." 

The  door  was  banged  behind  her.  It  awoke  Mrs. 
Hartrick,  who  turned  slowly  on  her  pillow,  and  said  to 
herself,  "  I  am  quite  certain  that  wicked  girl  Molly  has 
been  disturbing  our  poor  little  traveler."  But  she  fell 
asleep,  and  Nora  lay  thinking  of  Molly.  How  queer  she 
was !  And  yet — and  yet  she  was  the  only  person  in  the 
English  home  who  had  yet  managed  to  touch  Nora's 
warm  Irish  heart. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  somewhat  soberly.  Molly 
and  Linda  both  started  for  school  immediately  after  an 
early  breakfast.  Terence  went  to  town  with  his  uncle, 
and  Nora  and  her  aunt  were  left  alone.  She  had  ear- 
nestly hoped  that  she  might  have  had  one  of  her  first  im- 
portant talks  with  Mr.  Hartrick  before  he  left  that  morn- 
ing; but  he  evidently  had  no  idea  of  giving  her  an  op- 
portunity. He  spoke  to  her  kindly,  but  seemed  to  regard 
her  already  as  quite  one  of  the  family,  and  certainly  was 
not  disposed  to  alter  his  plans  or  put  out  his  business 
arrangements  on  her  account.  She  resolved,  with  a 
slightly  impatient  sigh,  to  abide  her  time,  and  followed 
her  aunt  into  the  morning-room,  where  the  good  lady 
produced  some  fancy  work,  and  asked  Nora  if  she  would 
like  to  help  her  to  arrange  little  squares  for  a  large  patch- 
work quilt  which  was  to  be  raffled  for  at  a  bazar  shortly 
to  be  held  in  the  place. 

Nora  gravely  took  the  little  bits  of  colored  silk,  and, 
under  her  aunt's  supervision,  began  to  arrange  them  in 
patterns.  She  was  not  a  neat  worker,  and  the  task  was 
by  no  means  to  her  taste. 


BITS  OF  SLANG.  121 

"  What  time  ought  I  to  write  in  order  to  catch  the 
post  ?  "  she  said,  breaking  the  stillness,  and  raising  her 
lovely  eyes  to  Mrs.  Hartrick's  face. 

"  The  post  goes  out  many  times  in  the  day,  Nora ;  but 
if  you  want  to  catch  the  Irish  mail,  you  must  have  your 
letter  in  the  box  in  the  hall  by  half-past  three.  There  is 
plenty  of  time,  my  dear,  and  you  will  find  notepaper  and 
everything  you  require  in  the  escritoire  in  the  study. 
You  can  always  go  there  if  you  wish  to  write  your  let- 
ters." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Nora. 

"  When  you  are  tired  of  work,  you  can  go  out  and 
walk  about  the  grounds.  I  will  take  you  for  a  drive  this 
afternoon.  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  arrived  just  when 
the  girls  have  gone  back  to  school;  but  you  and  Linda 
can  have  a  good  deal  of  fun  in  the  evenings,  you  know." 

"But  why  not  Molly  too?"  asked  Nora.  She  felt 
rather  alarmed  at  mentioning  her  elder  cousin's  name. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  did  not  speak  at  all  for  a  moment ;  then 
she  gave  a  sigh. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  Nora,  that  Molly  is 
by  no  means  a  good  girl.  She  is  extremely  rebellious 
and  troublesome ;  and  if  this  state  of  things  goes  on  much 
longer  her  father  and  I  will  be  obliged  to  send  her  to  a 
very  strict  school  as  a  boarder.  We  do  not  wish  to  do 
that,  as  my  husband  does  not  approve  of  boarding-schools 
for  girls.  At  present  she  is  spending  a  good  deal  of  her 
time  in  punishment." 

"  I  hope  she  won't  be  in  punishment  to-night,"  said 
Nora.    "  I  like  her  so  much." 

"  Do  you,  my  dear?  I  hope  she  won't  influence  you  to 
become  insubordinate." 

Nora  felt  restless,  and  some  of  the  bits  of  colored  silk 
•fluttered  to  the  floor. 


122  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Be  careful,  my  dear  Nora,"  said  her  aunt  in  a  some- 
what sharp  voice ;  "  don't  let  those  bits  of  silk  get  about 
on  the  carpet.  I  am  most  particular  that  everything  in 
the  house  should  be  kept  neat  and  in  order.  I  will  get 
you  a  little  work-basket  to  keep  your  things  in  when  next 
I  go  upstairs." 

"  Thank  you,  Aunt  Grace,"  answered  Nora. 

"  And  now,  as  we  are  alone,"  continued  the  good  lady, 
"  you  might  tell  me  something  of  your  life.  Your  uncle 
is  very  anxious  that  your  mother  should  come  and  pay  us 
a  visit.  He  is  very  much  attached  to  his  sister,  and  it 
seems  to  me  strange  that  they  should  not  have  met  for  so 
many  years.  You  have  a  beautiful  place  at  home,  Nora — 
have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nora ;  "  the  place  is  " — she  paused,  and 
her  voice  took  an  added  emphasis — "  beautiful." 

"  How  emphatically  you  say  it,  dear !  You  have  a 
pretty  mode  of  speech,  although  very,  very  Irish." 

"  I  am  Irish,  you  see,  Aunt  Grace,"  answered  Nora. 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  need  scarcely  tell  me  that ;  your  brogue 
betrays  you." 

"  But  mother  was  always  particular  that  I  should  speak 
correctly,"  continued  the  girl.  "  Does  my  accent  offend 
you,  Aunt  Grace  ?  " 

"  No,  dear ;  your  uncle  and  I  both  think  it  quite  charm- 
ing. But  tell  me  some  more.  Of  course  you  are  very 
busy  just  now  writh  your  studies,  Nora.  A  girl  of  your 
age — how  old  did  you  say  you  were — sixteen? — a  girl 
of  your  age  has  not  a  moment  to  lose  in  acquiring  those 
things  which  are  essential  to  the  education  of  an  accom- 
plished woman  of  the  present  day." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  shock  you  very  much  indeed, 
Aunt  Grace,  when  I  tell  you  that  my  education  is  sup- 
posed to  be  finished." 


BITS  OF  SLANG.  123 

"  Finished !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick.  She  paused  for  a 
moment  and  stared  full  at  Nora.  "  I  was  astonished," 
she  continued,  "  when  your  uncle  suggested  that  you 
should  pay  us  a  visit  now.  I  said,  as  September  had  be- 
gun, you  would  be  going  back  to  school;  but  you  ac- 
cepted the  invitation,  or  rather  your  mother  did  for  you, 
without  any  allusion  to  your  school.  You  must  have 
got  on  very  well,  Nora,  to  be  finished  by  now.  How  many 
languages  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  can  chatter  in  Irish  after  a  fashion,"  said  Nora ; 
"  and  I  am  supposed,  after  a  fashion  also,  to  know  my 
own  tongue." 

"  Irish !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick  in  a  tone  of  quivering 
scorn.  "  I  don't  mean  anything  of  that  sort.  I  allude  to 
your  acquaintance  with  French,  German,  and  Italian." 

"  I  do  know  a  very  little  French,"  said  Nora ;  "  that  is, 
I  can  read  one  or  two  books  in  French.  Mother  taught 
me  what  I  know ;  but  I  do  not  know  any  German  or  any 
Italian.  I  don't  see  that  it  matters,"  she  continued,  a 
flush  coming  into  her  cheeks.  "  I  should  never  talk  Ger- 
man or  Italian  in  Ireland.  I  wouldn't  be  understood  if 
I  did." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  Nora ;  and  your  tone, 
my  dear,  without  meaning  it,  of  course,  was  just  a  shade 
pert  just  now.  It  is  essential  in  the  present  day  that  all 
well-educated  women  should  be  able  to  speak  at  least  in 
three  languages." 

"  Then  I  am  sorry,  Aunt  Grace,  for  I  am  afraid  you 
will  despise  me.  I  shall  never  be  well  educated  in  that 
sense  of  the  word." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  was  silent. 

"  I  will  speak  to  your  uncle,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 
"  While  you  are  here  you  can  have  lessons.  It  would 
be  possible  to  arrange  that  you  went  to  school  with  Linda 


124  LIGHT  O    THE  MORNING. 

and  Molly,  and  had  French  and  German  lessons  while 
there." 

"  But  I  don't  expect  to  be  very  long  in  England,"  said 
Nora,  a  note  of  alarm  in  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  now  that  we  have  got  you,  we 
shall  not  allow  you  to  go  in  a  hurry.  It  is  such  a  nice 
change  for  you,  too;  this  is  your  first  visit  to  England, 
is  it  not?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Grace." 

"  We  won't  let  you  go  for  some  time,  little  Nora.  Your 
brother  is  a  dear  fellow ;  your  uncle  and  I  admire  him 
immensely,  and  he  is  quite  well  educated  and  so  adapta- 
ble ;  and  I  am  sure  you  would  be  the  same,  my  dear, 
when  you  have  had  the  many  chances  which  will  be  of- 
fered to  you  here.  You  must  look  upon  me  as  your  real 
aunt,  dear,  and  tell  me  anything  that  you  wish.  Don't  be 
shy  of  me,  my  love;  I  can  quite  understand  that  a 
young  girl,  when  she  first  leaves  her  mother,  is  rather 
shy." 

"  I  never  felt  shy  at  home,"  answered  Nora ;  "  but 
then,  you  know,  I  was  more  with  father  than  with 
mother." 

"  More  with  your  father !  Does  he  stay  at  home  all 
day,  then?  " 

"  He  is  always  about  the  place ;  he  has  nothing  else 
to  do." 

"  Of  course  he  has  large  estates." 

"  They  are  not  so  very  large,  Aunt  Grace." 

"  Well,  dear,  that  is  a  relative  term,  of  course;  but  from 
your  uncle's  description,  and  to  judge  from  your  mother's 
letters,  it  must  be  a  very  large  place.  By  the  way,  how 
does  she  manage  her  servants?  She  must  have  a  large 
staff  at  Castle  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  I  don't  think  we  manage  our  servants  particularly 


BITS  OF  SLANG.  1 25 

well,"  said  Nora.  "  It  is  true  they  all  stay  with  us ;  but 
then  we  don't  keep  many." 

"How  many,  dear?" 

"  There's  Pegeen — she  is  the  parlor-maid — and  there's 
the  cook — we  do  change  our  cook  sometimes,  for  mother 
is  rather  particular;  then  there  is  the  woman  who  at- 
tends to  the  fowls,  and  the  woman  who  does  the  wash- 
ing, and — I  think  that  is  about  all.  Oh,  there's  the 
post-boy;  perhaps  you  would  consider  him  a  servant, 
but  I  scarcely  think  he  ought  to  be  called  one.  We  give 
him  twopence  a  week  for  fetching  the  letters.  He  is  a 
very  good  little  boy.  He  stands  on  his  head  whenever 
he  sees  me;  he  is  very  fond  of  me,  and  that  is  the  way 
he  shows  his  affection.  It  would  make  you  laugh,  Aunt 
Grace,  if  you  saw  Michael  standing  on  his  head." 

"  It  would  make  me  shudder,  you  mean,"  said  Mrs. 
Hartrick.  "  Really,  Nora,  your  account  of  your  mother's 
home  is  rather  disparaging;  two  or  three  very  rough 
servants,  and  no  more.  But  I  understood  you  lived  in 
castle." 

"  Oh,  a  castle  may  mean  anything ;  but  it  is  not  fair 
for  you  and  Uncle  George  to  think  we  are  rich,  for  we 
are  very  poor.  And,"  continued  Nora,  "  for  my  part,  I 
love  to  be  poor."  She  stood  up  abruptly.  In  her  excite- 
ment all  her  bits  of  silk  tumbled  to  the  floor.  "  May  I 
go  out  and  have  a  run,  Aunt  Grace  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  feel 
quite  stiff.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  being  indoors  for 
so  long  at  a  time." 

"  You  can  go  out,  Nora,  if  you  like,"  said  her  aunt  in 
a  displeased  tone ;  "  but,  first,  have  the  goodness  to  pick 
up  all  those  bits  you  have  dropped." 

Nora,  with  flushed  cheeks,  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
oits  of  silk.  She  wrapped  them  in  a  piece  of  paper  and 
put  them  on  the  table. 


126  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  You  can  stay  out  for  an  hour,  my  dear ;  but  you  are 
surely  not  going  without  a  hat." 

11  I  never  wear  a  hat  at  home,"  said  Nora. 

"  You  must  run  upstairs  and  fetch  your  hat,"  said 
Mrs.  Hartrick. 

Poor  Nora  never  felt  more  tried  in  the  whole  course  of 
her  life. 

"  I  shall  get  as  bad  as  Molly  if  this  goes  on,"  she 
thought  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TWO     LETTERS. 

"  Dear  Mother  [wrote  Nora  O'  Shanaghgan  later  on 
that  same  morning]  :  I  arrived  safely  yesterday.  Uncle 
George  met  me  at  Holyhead,  and  was  very  kind  indeed. 
I  had  a  comfortable  journey  up  to  town,  and  Uncle 
George  saw  that  I  wanted  for  nothing.  When  we  got 
to  London  we  drove  across  the  town  to  another  station, 
called  Waterloo,  and  took  a  train  on  here.  A  carriage 
met  us  at  the  station  with  a  pair  of  beautiful  gray  horses. 
They  were  not  as  handsome  as  Black  Bess,  but  they  were 
very  beautiful ;  and  we  arrived  here  between  eight  and 
nine  o'clock.  This  is  just  the  sort  of  place  you  would 
like,  mother;  such  thick  carpets  on  the  stairs,  and  such 
large,  spacious,  splendidly  furnished  rooms ;  and  Aunt 
Grace  has  meals  to  the  minute;  and  they  have  lots  and 
lots  of  servants;  and  my  bedroom — oh,  mother!  I  think 
you  would  revel  in  my  bedroom.  It  has  such  a  terribly 
thick  carpet  on  the  floor — I  mean  it  has  a  thick  carpet  on 
the  floor ;  and  there  is  a  view  from  the  window,  the  sort 
you  have  so  often  described  to  me — great  big  trees,  and 
a  lawn  like  velvet,  and  four  or  five  tennis-courts,  and  a 
shrubbery  with  all  the  trees  cut  so  exact  and  round  and 
proper,  and  a  peep  of  the  River  Thames  just  beyond.  My 
cousins  keep  a  boat  on  the  river,  and  they  often  go  out 
in  the  summer  evenings.  They  are  going  to  take  me  for 
a  rcw  on  Saturday,  when  the  girls  have  a  holiday. 


128  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  I  saw  Terence  almost  immediately  after  I  arrived. 
He  looked  just  as  you  would  like  to  see  him,  so  hand- 
some in  his  evening  dress.  He  was  a  little  stiff — at  least, 
I  mean  he  was  very  correct  in  his  manner.  We  had 
supper  when  we  arrived.  I  was  awfully  hungry,  but  I 
did  not  like  to  eat  too  much,  for  Terence  seemed  so  cor- 
rect— nice  in  his  manner,  I  mean — and  everything  was 
just  as  you  have  described  things  when  you  were  young. 
There  are  two  girls,  my  cousins — Linda,  a  very  pretty 
girl,  fair,  and  so  very  neatly  dressed ;  and  Molly,  who 
is  not  the  least  like  the  others.  You  would  not  like 
Molly ;  she  is  rather  rough ;  but  of  course  I  must  not  com- 
plain of  her.  I  have  been  sitting  with  Aunt  Grace  all 
the  morning,  until  I  could  bear  it  no  longer — I  mean, 
until  I  got  a  little  stiff  in  my  legs,  and  then  I  had  a  run 
in  the  garden.  Now  I  am  writing  this  letter  in  Aunt 
Grace's  morning-room,  and  if  I  look  round  I  shall  see 
her  back. 

"  Good-by,  dear  mother.  I  will  write  again  in  a  day 
or  two. — Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Nora  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  There,"  said  Nora,  under  her  breath,  "  that's  done. 
Now  for  daddy." 

She  took  out  another  sheet  of  paper,  and  began  to 
scribble  rapidly. 

"  Darling,  darling,  love  of  my  heart !  Daddy,  daddy, 
oh !  but  it's  I  that  miss  you.  I  am  writing  to  you  here 
in  this  could,  could  country.  Oh,  daddy,  if  I  could  run  to 
you  now,  wouldn't  I  ?  What  are  you  doing  without  your 
Light  o'  the  Morning?  I  am  pent  up,  daddy,  and  I  don't 
think  I  can  stand  it  much  longer.  It's  but  a  tiny  visit  I'll 
pay,  and  then  I'll  come  back  again  to  the  mountains  and 


TWO  LETTERS.  1*9 

the  sea,  and  the  old,  old  house,  and  the  dear,  darling  dad. 
Keep  up  your  heart,  daddy;  you'll  soon  have  Light  o' 
the  Morning  home.  Oh!  it's  so  proper,  and  I'm  wrapped 
up  in  silk  chains;  they  are  surrounding  me  everywhere, 
and  I  can't  quite  bear  it.  Aunt  Grace  is  sitting  here ;  I 
am  writing  in  her  morning-room.  Oh !  if  I  could, 
wouldn't  I  scream,  or  shout,  or  do  something  awfully 
wicked ;  but  I  must  not,  for  it  is  the  English  way.  They 
have  got  the  wild  bird  Nora  into  the  English  cage ;  and, 
darling  dad  asthore,  it's  her  heart  that  will  be  broke 
if  she  stays  here  long.  There's  one  comfort  I  have — or, 
bedad!  I  don't  think  I  could  bear  it — and  that's  Molly. 
She's  a  bit  of  a  romp  and  a  bit  of  a  scamp,  and  she  has 
a  daring  spirit  of  her  own,  and  she  hates  the  convention- 
alities, and  she  would  like  to  be  Irish  too.  She  can't, 
poor  colleen;  but  she  is  nice  and  worth  knowing,  and 
she'll  just  keep  my  heart  from  being  broke  entirely. 

"  How  are  they  all  at  home  ?  Give  them  lashins  and 
lavins  of  love  from  Nora.  Tell  them  it's  soon  I'll  be 
back  with  them.  You  go  round  and  give  a  message 
to  each  and  all;  and  don't  forget  Hannah  Croneen,  and 
little  Mike,  and  Bridget  Murphy,  and  Squire  Murphy, 
and  the  rest — all  and  every  one  who  remembers  Nora 
O'Shanaghgan.  Tell  them  it's  her  heart  is  imprisoned 
till  she  gets  back  to  them ;  and  she  would  rather  have  one 
bit  of  her  own  native  soil  than  all  the  gold  in  the  whole 
of  England.  I  declare  it's  rough  and  wild  I  am  getting, 
and  my  heart  is  bleeding.  I  have  written  a  correct  letter 
to  mother,  and  given  her  the  news ;  but  I  am  telling  you  a 
bit  of  my  true,  true  heart.  Send  for  me  if  you  miss  me 
too  much,  and  I'll  fly  back  to  you.  Oh !  it's  chains 
wouldn't  keep  me,  for  go  I  must  if  this  state  of  things 
continues  much  longer. — Your 

"  Light  o'  the  Morning." 


13°  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

The  two  letters  were  written,  the  last  one  relieving 
Nora's  feelings  not  a  little.  She  put  them  into  separate 
envelopes  and  stamped  them. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  rose,  went  over  to  her  desk,  and  saw 
Nora's  letters. 

u  Oh,  you  have  written  to  your  parents,"  she  said. 
"  Quite  right,  my  dear.  But  why  put  them  into  sep- 
arate envelopes?  They  could  go  nicely  in  one.  That, 
really',  is  willful  waste,  Nora,  which  we  in  England 
never  permit." 

"  Oh,  please,  don't  change  them,  Aunt  Grace,"  said 
Nora,  as  Mrs.  Hartrick  took  the  two  letters  up  and 
paused  before  opening  one  of  the  envelopes.  "  Please, 
please,  let  them  go  as  they  are.  It's  my  own  stamp,"  she 
continued,  losing  all  sense  of  grammar  in  her  excite- 
ment. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  just  as  you  please.  There,  don't 
excite  yourself,  Nora.  I  only  suggested  that,  when 
one  stamp  would  do,  it  was  rather  wasteful  to  spend 
two." 

"  Oh,  daddy  does  like  to  get  his  own  letters  to  his  own 
self,"  said  Nora. 

"  Your  father,  you  mean.  You  don't,  surely,  call  him 
by  the  vulgar  word  daddy  ?  " 

"  Bedad !  but  I  do,"  answered  Nora. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  turned  and  gave  her  niece  a  frozen 
glance.  Presently  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder. 

"  I  don't  want  to  complain  or  to  lecture  you,"  she 
said ;  "  but  that  expression  must  not  pass  your  lips  again 
while  you  are  here." 

"  It  shan't.     I  am  ever  so  sorry,"  said  the  girl. 

"  I  think  you  are,  dear ;  and  how  flushed  your  cheeks 
are !    You  seem  quite  tired.    Now,  go  upstairs  and  wash 


TWO  LETTERS.  131 

your  hands ;  the  luncheon-gong  will  ring  in  five  min- 
utes, and  we  must  be  punctual  at  meals." 

Nora  slowly  left  the  room. 

"  Oh !  but  it's  like  lead  my  heart  is,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. 

The  day  passed  very  dismally  for  the  wild  Irish  girl. 
After  lunch  she  and  her  aunt  had  a  long  and  proper 
drive.  They  drove  through  lovely  country ;  but  Xora 
was  feeling  even  a  little  bit  cross,  and  could  not  see  the 
beauties  of  the  perfectly  tilled  landscape,  of  the  orderly 
fields,  of  the  lovely  hedgerows. 

"  It  is  too  tidy,"  she  said  once  in  a  choking  sort  of 
voice. 

"  Tidy !  "  answered  Mrs.  Hartrick.  She  looked  at 
Nora,  uttered  a  sigh,  and  did  not  speak  of  the  beauties 
of  the  country  again. 

When  they  got  back  from  their  drive  things  were  a 
little  better,  for  Linda  and  Molly  had  returned  from 
school ;  and,  for  a  wonder,  Molly  was  not  in  disgrace. 
She  looked  quite  excited,  and  darting  out  of  the  house, 
took  Nora's  hand  and  pulled  it  inside  her  arm. 

"  Come  and  have  a  talk,"  she  said.  "  I  am  hungering 
for  a  chat  with  you." 

"  Tea  will  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes,  Molly,"  called 
out  Mrs.  Hartrick,  then  entered  the  house  accompanied 
by  Linda. 

Meanwhile  Molly  and  Nora  wTent  round  to  the  shrub- 
bery at  the  back  of  the  house. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  said  Molly.  She 
turned  and  faced  her  companion. 

Nora's  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears. 

"  It  is  only  that  I  am  keeping  in  so  much,"  she  said ; 
"  and — and,  oh !  I  do  wish  you  were  not  all  quite  so 
tidy.     I  am  just  mad  for  somebody  to  be  wild  and  un- 


I32  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

kempt.  I  feel  that  I  could  take  down  my  hair,  or  tear 
a  rent  in  my  dress — anything-  rather  than  the  neatness. 
Oh !  I  hate  your  landscapes,  and  your  trim  hedges,  and 
your  trim  house,  and  your " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Molly ;  "  let  it  out ;  let  it  out.  I'll 
never  repeat  it.  You  must  come  in,  in  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  to  a  stiff  meal.  You  will  have  to  sit  upright, 
let  me  tell  you,  and  not  lounge ;  and  you  will  have  to 
eat  your  bread  and  butter  very  nicely,  and  sip  your  tea, 
and  not  eat  overmuch.  Mother  does  not  approve  of  it. 
Then  when  tea  is  over  you  will  have  to  leave  the  room 
and  go  upstairs  and  get  things  out  for  dinner." 

"  My  things  out  for  dinner?"  gasped  Xora.  "What 
do  you  mean?  " 

"  Your  evening-dress.  Do  you  suppose  you  will  be 
allowed  to  dine  in  your  morning-dress  ?  " 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Nora,  brightening;  "now  I 
understand.  Mother  did  get  me  a  white  frock,  and  she 
had  it  cut  square  in  the  neck,  and  the  sleeves  are  a  little 
short." 

"  You  will  look  sweet  in  that,"  said  Molly,  gazing  at 
her  critically ;  "  and  I  will  bring  you  in  a  bunch  of  sweet- 
peas  to  put  in  your  belt,  and  you  can  have  a  little  bunch 
in  your  hair,  too,  if  you  like.  You  know  you  are  aw- 
fully pretty.  I  am  sure  Linda  is  just  mad  with  jealousy 
about  it ;  I  can  see  it,  although  she  does  not  say  anything. 
She  is  rather  disparaging  about  you,  is  Linda ;  that  is 
one  of  her  dear  little  ways.  She  runs  people  down  with 
faint  praise.  She  was  talking  a  lot  about  you  as  we  were 
going  to  school  this  morning.  She  began :  '  You  know, 
I  do  think  Xora  is  a  pretty  girl ;  but  it  is  such  a  pity 
that '  " 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  Xora,  suddenly  putting  out  her  hand 
and  closing  Molly's  lips. 


TWO   LETTERS.  133 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  that  for  ?  "  said 
Molly. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to  hear ;  she  did  not  mean  me 
to  know  that  she  said  these  things." 

"  What  a  curiosity  you  are !  "  said  Molly.  "  So  wild, 
so  defiant,  and  yet — oh,  of  course,  I  like  you  awfully. 
Do  you  know  that  the  vision  of  your  face  kept  me  good 
all  day?  Isn't  that  something  to  be  proud  of?  I  didn't 
answer  one  of  my  teachers  back,  and  I  did  have  a  scold- 
ing, let  me  tell  you.  Oh,  my  music;  you  don't  know 
what  I  suffer  over  it.  I  have  not  a  single  particle  of 
taste.  I  have  not  the  faintest  ghost  of  an  ear ;  but  mother 
insists  on  my  learning.  I  could  draw ;  I  could  sketch ; 
I  can  do  anything  with  my  pencil ;  but  that  does  not  suit 
mother.  It  must  be  music.  I  must  play;  I  must  play 
well  at  sight;  I  must  play  all  sorts  of  difficult  accom- 
paniments for  songs,  because  gentlemen  like  to  have 
their  songs  accompanied  for  them ;  and  I  must  be  able 
to  do  this  the  very  moment  the  music  is  put  before  me. 
And  I  must  not  play  too  loud;  I  must  play  just  right,  in 
perfect  time ;  and  I  must  be  ready,  when  there  is  nothing 
else  being  done,  to  play  long  pieces,  those  smart  kind  of 
things  people  do  play  in  the  present  day;  and  I  must 
never  play  a  wrong  note.  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  and  I  sim- 
ply cannot  do  these  things.  I  don't  know  wrong  notes 
from  right.    I  really  don't." 

"  Oh,  Molly !  "  cried  Nora. 

"  There  you  are ;  I  can  see  that  you  are  musical." 

"  I  think  I  am,  very.  I  mean  I  think  I  should  always 
know  a  wrong  note  from  a  right  one ;  but  I  have  not 
had  many  opportunities  of  learning." 

"Oh,  good  gracious  me!  what  next?"  exclaimed 
Molly. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  said  Nora. 


134  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  relieving  my  feelings,  just  as  you  re- 
lieved yours  a  short  time  ago.  Oh,  dear !  my  music.  I 
know  I  played  atrociously ;  but  that  dreadful  Airs.  El- 
ford  was  so  cross;  she  did  thump  so  herself  on  the  piano, 
and  told  me  that  my  fingers  were  like  sticks.  And  what 
could  I  do?  I  longed  to  let  out  some  of  my  expressions 
at  her.  You  must  know  that  I  am  feared  on  account  of 
my  expressions — my  slang,  I  call  them.  They  do  shock 
people  so,  and  it  is  simply  irresistible  to  see  them  shud- 
der, and  close  their  eyes,  and  draw  themselves  together, 
and  then  majestically  walk  out  of  the  room.  The  head- 
mistress is  summoned  then,  and  I — I  am  doomed.  I  get 
my  pieces  to  do  out  of  school ;  and  when  I  come  home 
mother  lectures  me,  and  sends  me  to  my  bedroom.  But 
I  am  free  to-night.  I  have  been  good  all  day ;  and  it  is  on 
account  of  you,  Nora;  just  because  you  are  a  little  Irish 
witch ;  and  I  sympathize  with  you  to  the  bottom  of  my 
soul." 

"Molly!  Molly ! "  here  called  out  Linda's  voice; 
"  mother  says  it's  time  for  you  and  Nora  to  come  in  to 
wash  your  hands  for  tea." 

"  Oh,  go  to  Jericho !  "  called  out  Molly. 

Linda  turned  immediately  and  went  into  the  house. 

"  She  is  a  tell-tale-tit,"  said  Molly. .  "  She  will  be  sure 
to  repeat  that  to  mother;  and  do  you  think  I  shall  be 
allowed  any  cake?  There  is  a  very  nice  kind  of  rice- 
cake  which  cook  makes,  and  I  am  particularly  fond  of  it. 
You'll  see  I  am  not  to  have  any,  just  because  I  said  '  Go 
to  Jericho !  '     I  am  sure  I  wish  Linda  would  go." 

"  But  those  kind  of  things  are  rather  vulgar,  aren't 
they?"  said  Nora.  "Father  wouldn't  like  them.  YVe 
say  all  kinds  of  funny  things  at  home,  but  not  things 
like  that.     I  wish  you  would  not." 

"  You  wish  I  would  not  what  ?  " 


TWO   LETTERS.  1 35 

"  Use  words  like  '  Go  to  Jericho ! '  Father  would  not 
like  to  hear  you." 

"  You  are  a  very  audacious  kind  of  girl,  let  me  tell 
you,  Nora,"  said  Molly.  She  colored,  and  looked  an- 
noyed for  a  moment,  then  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  But  I 
like  you  all  the  better  for  not  being  afraid  of  me,"  she 
continued.  "  Come,  let's  go  into  the  house ;  we  can  re- 
lieve our  feelings  somehow  to-night ;  we'll  have  a  lark- 
somehow  ;  you  mark  my  words.  In  the  meantime  mum's 
the  word." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A    CHEEKY   IRISH    GIRL. 

At  tea  the  girls  were  very  stiff.  Molly  and  Nora  were 
put  as  far  as  possible  asunder.  They  did  not  have  tea 
in  the  drawing  room,  but  in  the  dining  room,  and  Airs. 
Hartrick  presided.  There  was  jam  on  the  table,  and  two 
or  three  kinds  of  cake,  and,  of  course,  plenty  of  bread 
and  butter. 

As  Molly  had  predicted,  however,  the  news  of  her  ex- 
pression "  Go  to  Jericho !  "  had  already  reached  Mrs. 
Hartrick's  ears,  and  the  fiat  had  gone  forth  that  she  was 
only  to  eat  bread  and  butter.  It  was  handed  to  her,  in 
a  marked  way,  by  her  mother,  and  Linda's  light-blue 
eyes  flashed  with  pleasure.  Nora  felt  at  that  moment 
that  she  almost  hated  Linda.  She  herself  ate  resignedly, 
and  without  much  appetite.  Her  spirits  were  down  to 
zero.  It  seemed  far  less  likely  than  it  did  before  she  left 
O'Shanaghgan  that  she  could  help  her  father  out  of  his 
scrape.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  break  through  these 
chains  of  propriety,  of  neatness,  of  order.  Would  any- 
body in  this  trim  household  care  in  the  very  least  whether 
the  old  Irishman  broke  his  heart  or  not?  whether  he  and 
the  Irish  girl  had  to  go  forth  from  the  home  of  their  an- 
cestors? whether  the  wild,  beautiful,  rack-rent  sort  of 
place  was  kept  in  the  family  or  not? 

"  They  none  of  them  care,"  thought  Nora.  "  I  don't 
believe  Uncle  George  will  do  anything;  but  all  the  same 
I  have  got  to  ask  him.  He  was  nice  about  my  letter,  I 
will  own  that;  but  will  he  really,  really  help?  " 

i-,6 


A    CHEEKY  IRISH  GIRL.  137 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Nora,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Hartrick  at  this  moment. 

Nora  glanced  up  with  a  guilty  flush. 

"  Oh,  I  was  only  thinking,"  she  began. 

"Yes,  dear,  what  about?" 

"  About  father."  Nora  colored  as  she  spoke,  and  Linda 
fixed  her  eyes  on  her  face. 

"  Very  pretty  indeed  of  you,  my  dear,  to  think  so 
much  of  your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick ;  "  but  I  can- 
not help  giving  you  a  hint.  It  is  not  considered  good 
manners  for  a  girl  to  be  absent-minded  while  she  is  in 
public.  You  are  more  or  less  in  public  now ;  I  am  here, 
and  your  cousins,  and  it  is  our  bounden  duty  each  to 
try  and  make  the  others  pleasant,  to  add  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  meal  by  a  little  graceful  conversation.  Ab- 
sent-mindedness is  very  dull  for  others,  my  dear  Nora ; 
so  in  future  try  not  to  look  quite  so  abstracted." 

Nora  colored  again.  Molly,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  bit  her  lip  furiously,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
help  herself  to  another  thick  piece  of  bread  and  butter. 
In  doing  so  she  upset  a  small  milk- jug;  a  stream  of  milk 
flowed  down  the  tablecloth,  and  Mrs.  Hartrick  rose  in 
indignation. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  evening  running  you  have  spilt 
something  on  the  tablecloth,  Molly.  Go  to  your  room 
immediately." 

Molly  rose,  dropped  a  mocking  courtesy  to  her  mother, 
and  left  the  room. 

"  Linda  dear,  run  after  your  sister,  and  tell  her  that, 
for  her  impertinence  to  me,  she  is  to  remain  in  her  room 
until  dinner-time." 

"  Oh !  please  forgive  her  this  time ;  she  didn't  mean  it 
really,"  burst  from  Nora's  lips. 

"  Nora !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 


I38  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Oh !  I  am  sorry  for  her ;  please  forgive  her." 

"  Nora !  "  repeated  her  aunt  again. 

"  It  is  because  you  do  not  understand  her  that  she 
goes  on  like  that;  she  is  such  a  fine  girl,  twice — twice 
as  fine  as  Linda.  Oh,  I  do  wish  you  would  forgive 
her !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Linda  in  a  mocking  voice.  She  had 
got  as  far  as  the  door,  and  had  overheard  Nora's  words. 
She  now  glanced  at  her  mother,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I 
told  you  so,"  and  left  the  room. 

Nora  had  jumped  to  her  feet.  She  had  forgotten 
prudence ;  she  had  forgotten  politeness ;  her  eyes  were 
bright  with  suppressed  fire,  and  her  glib  Irish  tongue  was 
eager  to  enter  into  the  fray. 

"  I  must  speak  out,"  she  said.  "  Molly  is  more  like  me 
than  anybody  else  in  this  house,  and  I  must  take  her  part. 
She  would  be  a  very,  very  good  girl  if  she  were  under- 
stood." 

"  What  are  your  ideas  with  regard  to  understanding 
Molly  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick  in  that  very  calm  and  icy 
voice  which  irritated  poor  Nora  almost  past  endurance* 
She  was  speechless  for  a  moment,  struggling  with  fresh 
emotion. 

"  Oh !  I  wish "  she  began. 

"  And  I  wish,  my  dear  Nora,  that  you  would  remem- 
ber the  politeness  due  to  your  hostess.  I  also  wish  that 
you  would  consider  how  very  silly  you  are  when  you 
speak  as  you  are  now  doing.  I  do  not  know  what  your 
Irish  habits  are;  but  if  it  is  considered  in  Ireland  rather 
a  virtue  than  otherwise  to  spill  a  milk  jug,  and  allow  the 
contents  to  deface  the  tablecloth,  I  am  sorry  for  you, 
that  is  all." 

"  You  cannot  understand.  I — I  am  sorry  I  came,"  said 
Nora. 


A    CHEEKY  IRISH  GIRL.  139 

She  burst  into  sudden  tears,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 
In  a  few  moments  Linda  came  back. 

"  Molly  is  storming,"  she  said ;  "  she  is  in  an  awful 
rage." 

"  Sit  down,  Linda,  and  don't  tell  tales  of  your  sister," 
answered  Mrs.  Hartrick  in  an  annoyed  voice. 

"  Dear  me,  mother !  "  said  Linda ;  "  and  where  is 
Nora?" 

"  Nora  is  a  very  impertinent  little  girl.  She  is  wild, 
however,  and  unbroken.  We  must  all  have  patience  with 
her.  Poor  child !  it  is  terrible  to  think  that  she  is  your 
father's  niece.  What  a  contrast  to  dear  Terence !  He  is 
a  very  nice,  polite  boy.  I  am  sorry  for  Nora.  Of  course, 
as  to  Molly,  she  is  quite  different.  She  has  always  had 
the  advantage  of  my  bringing-up;  whereas  poor  Nora — 
well,  I  must  say  I  am  surprised  at  my  sister-in-law.  I 
did  not  think  your  father's  sister  would  have  been  so 
remiss." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  ought  to  say,"  said  Linda. 

"  What  is  that,  dear  ?  Linda,  do  sit  up  straight,  and 
don't  poke  your  head." 

Linda  drew  herself  up,  and  looked  prettily  toward  her 
mother. 

"  Wrhat  do  you  wish  to  say?  " 

"  It  is  this.  I  think  Nora  will  be  a  very  bad  companion 
for  Molly.  Molly  will  be  worse  than  ever  that  Nora  is 
in  the  house." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Linda,  it  is  your  duty  to  be  a  good 
deal  with  your  cousin.  You  are  too  fond  of  poking  holes 
in  others ;  you  are  a  little  hard  upon  your  sister  Molly. 
I  do  not  wish  to  excuse  Molly;  but  it  is  not  your  place 
as  her  younger  sister  to,  as  it  were,  rejoice  in  her  many 
faults." 

"  Oh,  I  don't,  mother,"  said  Linda,  coloring. 


140  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Linda  dear,  I  am  afraid  you  do.  You  must  try  and 
break  yourself  of  that  very  unchristian  habit.  But,  on 
the  whole,  my  dear,  I  am  pleased  with  you.  You  are 
careful  to  do  what  I  wish ;  you  learn  your  lessons  cor- 
rectly ;  I  have  good  reports  of  you  from  your  school- 
mistresses ;  and  if  you  are  careful,  my  dear,  you  will 
correct  those  little  habits  which  mar  the  perfect 
whole." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  mother,"  said  Linda.  "  I  will  try 
to  do  what  you  wish." 

"  What  I  particularly  want  you  to  do  just  now  is  to 
be  gentle  and  patient  with  your  cousin ;  you  must  re- 
member that  she  has  never  had  your  advantages.  Be 
with  her  a  good  deal;  talk  to  her  as  nicely  as  you  can; 
hint  to  her  what  I  wish.  Of  course,  if  she  becomes 
quite  incorrigible,  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  have 
her  long  with  you  and  Molly ;  but  the  child  is  much  to  be 
pitied ;  she  is  a  very  pretty  creature,  and  with  a  little 
care  could  be  made  most  presentable.  I  by  no  means 
give  her  up." 

"  Dear  mother,  how  sweetly  Christian-like  and  forgiv- 
ing you  are !  "  said  Linda. 

"  Oh,  hush,  my  dear ;  hush !  I  only  do  my  duty ;  I 
hope  I  shall  never  fail  in  that." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  rose  from  the  tea-table,  and  Linda  soon 
afterward  followed  her.  Mr.  Hartrick  was  seen  coming 
down  the  avenue.  He  generally  walked  from  the  station. 
He  came  in  now. 

"  What  a  hot  day  it  is !  "  he  said.  "  Pour  me  out  a 
cup  of  tea.  Linda.    I  am  very  thirsty." 

He  flung  himself  into  an  easy  chair,  and  Linda  waited 
on  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  where  are  the  others?  Where  is  the 
little  Irish  witch,  and  where  is  Mollv?" 


A    CHEEKY  IRISH  GIRL.  141 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Molly  is  in  disgrace,  as  usual," 
said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear !  "  said  Mr.  Hartrick ;  "  we  ought  to 
send  her  to  school,  poor  child !     I  am  sorry  for  her." 

"  And  I  intended  to  give  her  quite  a  pleasant  evening," 
said  Mrs.  Hartrick,  "  in  honor  of  her  cousin's  arrival. 
She  was  in  disgrace  yesterday  when  Nora  arrived ;  and  I 
had  thought  of  giving  the  girls  a  delightful  evening.  I 
had  it  all  planned,  and  was  going  to  ask  the  Challoners 
over;  but  really  Molly  is  so  incorrigible.  She  was  very 
pert  to  me,  although  she  did  bring  a  better  report  from 
school;  she  used  some  of  her  objectionable  language  to 
Linda,  and  was  more  awkward  even  than  usual." 

"  Look  at  the  tablecloth,  father,"  said  Linda. 

"  I  think,  Linda,  you  had  better' run  out  of  the  room," 
said  Mr.  Hartrick.     He  spoke  in  an  annoyed  voice. 

"  Certainly,  father,  I  will  go ;  but  don't  you  want  an- 
other cup  of  tea  first  ?  " 

"  Your  mother  shall  pour  it  out  for  me.  Go,  my  dear 
-go." 

"  Only,  mother,  is  it  necessary  that  we  should  not  ask 
the  Challoners  because  Molly  is  naughty?  The  rest  of 
us  would  like  to  have  them." 

'"  I  will  let  you  know  presently,  Linda,"  said  her 
mother;  and  Linda  was  obliged,  to  her  disgust,  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  Now,  then,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick,  "  I  don't  at 
all  like  to  call  you  over  the  coals ;  but  I  think  it  is  a  pity 
to  speak  against  Molly  so  much  as  you  do  in  her  sister's 
presence.  Linda  is  getting  eaten  up  with  conceit;  she 
will  be  an  intolerable  woman  by  and  by,  so  self-opinion- 
ated, and  so  pleased  with  herself.  After  all,  poor  Molly 
may  have  the  best  of  it  in  the  future ;  she  is  a  fine  child, 
notwithstanding  her  naughtiness." 


142  LIGHT   0'    THE   MORN  TNG. 

"  I  thought  it  likely  you  would  take  her  part,  George ; 
and  I  am  sorry,"  answered  Mrs.  Hartrick  in  a  melancholy 
tone;  "  but  I  am  grieved  to  tell  you  that  there  is  some- 
thing else  to  follow.  That  little  Irish  girl  is  quite  as 
cheeky,  even  more  cheeky  than  Molly.  I  fear  I  must  ask 
you  to  say  a  word  to  her ;  I  shall  require  her  to  be  re- 
spectful to  me  while  she  is  here.  She  spoke  very  rudely 
to  me  just  now,  simply  because  I  found  it  my  duty  to 
correct  Molly." 

"  Oh,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick.  "  I 
must  speak  to  Nora." 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  so." 

"  I  will.  By  the  way,  Grace,  what  a  pretty  creature 
she  is !  " 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  little  wildflower,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick. "  I  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her,  notwithstand- 
ing her  rudeness.  She  has  never  had  the  smallest  care; 
she  has  simply  been  allowed  to  grow  up  wild." 

"  Well,  Nature  has  taken  care  of  her,"  said  Mr.  Hart- 
rick. 

"  Yes,  dear,  of  course ;  but  you  yourself  know  the  ad- 
vantage of  bringing  up  a  girl  nicely." 

"  And  no  one  is  more  capable  of  doing  that  than  you 
are,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick,  giving  his  wife  an  admiring 
glance. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  for  the  compliment ;  but  I  should  be 
glad  if  you  would  speak  to  Nora.  Now  that  she  is  here, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  soon  discipline  her ;  and  I 
should  like  her  to  pay  quite  a  long  visit — that  is,  of  course, 
if  she  becomes  conformable  to  my  ways." 

"  She  will  be  sure  to  do  that,  Grace."  replied  the  hus- 
band. "  I  am  glad  you  mean  to  be  good  to  her,  and  to 
take  her  in  hand,  poor  little  lass !  " 

"  I  thought  she  might  have  some  good  masters  and  get 


A    CHEEKY  IRISH  GIRL.  143 

some  valuable  lessons  while  she  is  here,"  said  Airs.  Hart- 
rick.  "  Would  you  believe  it,  George  ? — that  little  girl  of 
sixteen  calmly  informed  me  that  her  education  was  fin- 
ished. At  the  same  time,  she  said  she  knew  no  language 
but  her  own,  and  just  a  smattering  of  that  dead  tongue, 
Irish.  She  cannot  play ;  in  short,  she  has  no  accomplish- 
ments whatever,  and  yet  her  education  is  finished.  I 
must  say  I  do  not  understand  your  sister.  I  should  have 
thought  that  she  was  a  little  more  like  you." 

"  There  never  was  a  more  particular  girl  than  Ellen 
used  to  be,"  said  Air.  Hartrick ;  "  but  I  must  have  a  long 
talk  writh  Nora.  FH  see  her  this  evening.  I  know  she 
has  a  good  deal  she  wants  to  talk  to  me  about." 

"  A  good  deal  she  wants  to  talk  to  you  about,  George?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  but  I  will  explain  presently.  She 
is  a  proud  little  witch,  and  must  not  be  coerced ;  we  must 
remember  that  her  spirit  has  never  been  broken.  But  I'll 
talk  to  her,  I'll  talk  to  her ;  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands, 
Grace." 

"  Certainly,  dear;  she  is  your  niece,  remember." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

TWO  DESCRIPTIONS. 

Some  of  Nora's  words  must  have  sunk  into  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick's  heart,  for,  rather  to  Molly's  own  astonishment,  she 
was  allowed  to  dress  nicely  for  dinner,  and  to  come  down. 
Her  somewhat  heavy,  dark  face  did  not  look  to  the  best 
advantage.  She  wore  a  dress  which  did  not  suit  her ;  her 
hair  was  awkwardly  arranged ;  there  was  a  scowl  on  her 
brow.  She  felt  so  sore  and  cross,  after  what  she  con- 
sidered her  brave  efforts  to  be  good  during  the  morning, 
that  she  would  almost  rather  have  stayed  up  in  her  room. 
But  Nora  would  not  hear  of  that.  Nora  had  rushed  into 
Molly's  room,  and  had  begged  her,  for  her  sake,  to  come 
downstairs.  Nora  was  looking  quite  charming  in  that 
pretty  white  frock  which  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  had  pur- 
chased for  her  in  Dublin.  Her  softly  rounded  figure,  her 
dazzlingly  fair  complexion,  were  seen  now  for  the  first 
time  to  the  best  advantage.  Her  thick  black  hair  was 
coiled  up  becomingly  on  her  graceful  little  head,  and,  with 
a  bunch  of  sweet  peas  at  her  belt,  there  could  scarcely 
have  been  seen  a  prettier  maiden.  When  she  appeared 
in  the  drawing  room,  even  Terence  was  forced  to  admit 
that  he  had  seldom  seen  a  more  lovely  girl  than  his  sister. 
He  went  up  to  her  and  began  to  take  notice  of  her. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  obliged  to  be  out  all  day.  I  am" 
studying  the  different  museums  very  exhaustively,"  said 
Terence  in  that  measured  tone  of  his  which  drove  poor 
Nora  nearly  wild.  She  replied  to  him  somewhat  pertly, 
and  he  retired  once  more  into  his  shell. 


TWO  DESCRIPTIONS.  145 

"  Pretty  as  my  sister  is,"  he  soliloquized,  *  she  really 
is  such  an  ignorant  girl  that  few  fellows  would  care  to 
speak  to  her.     It  is  a  sad  pity." 

Terence,  the  last  hope  of  the  house  of  O'Shanaghgan, 
was  heard  to  sigh  profoundly.  His  aunt,  Mrs.  Hartrick, 
and  his  cousin  Linda  would,  doubtless,  sympathize  with 
him. 

"  Dinner  was  announced,  and  the  meal  went  off  very 
well.  Molly  was  absolutely  silent ;  Nora,  taking  her  cue 
from  her,  hardly  spoke;  and  Linda,  Terence,  and  Mrs. 
Hartrick  had  it  all  their  own  way.  But  just  as  dessert 
was  placed  on  the  table,  Mr.  Hartrick  looked  at  Nora  and 
motioned  to  her  to  change  seats  and  to  come  to  one  close 
to  him. 

"  Come  now,"  he  said,  "  we  should  like  to  hear  your 
account  of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  Terence  has  told 
us  all  about  it ;  but  we  should  like  to  hear  your 
version.'' 

"  And  a  most  lovely  place  it  must  be,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  "  Your  description, 
Terence,  makes  me  quite  long  to  see  it ;  and  if  it  were  not 
that  I  am  honestly  very  much  afraid  of  the  Irish  peas- 
antry, I  should  be  glad  to  go  there  during  the  summer. 
But  those  terrible  creatures,  with  their  shillalahs,  and 
their  natural  aptitude  for  firing  on  you  from  behind  a 
hedge,  are  quite  too  fearful  to  contemplate.  I  could  not 
run  the  risk  of  assassination  from  any  of  them.  They 
seem  to  have  a  natural  hatred  for  the  English  and — why, 
what  is  the  matter,  Nora  ?  " 

-  "  Only  it's  not  true,"  said  Nora,  her  eyes  flashing. 
"  They  are  not  a  bit  like  that ;  they  are  the  most  warm- 
hearted people  in  the  whole  world.  Terence,  have  you 
been  telling  lies  about  your  country?  If  you  have,  I  am 
dowrnright  ashamed  of  you." 


246  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  But  I  have  not.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  an- 
swered Terence. 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  Nora !  "  said  her  uncle,  patting  her 
arm  gently ;  but  Nora's  eyes  blazed  with  fire. 

"  It's  not  a  bit  true,"  she  continued.  "  How  can  Aunt 
Grace  think  of  that?  The  poor  things  have  been  driven 
to  desperation,  because — because  their  hearts  have  been 
trampled  on." 

"  For  instance,"  said  Terence  in  a  mocking  voice,  which 
fell  like  ice  upon  poor  Nora's  hot,  indignant  nature — "  for 
instance,  Andy  Neil — he's  a  nice  specimen,  is  he  not?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Nora,  "  he — he  is  the  exception.  Don't 
talk  of  him,  please." 

"  That's  just  it,"  said  Terence,  laughing.  "  Nora 
wants  to  give  us  all  the  sweets,  and  to  conceal  all  the 
bitters.     Now,  I  am  honest,  whatever  I  am." 

"  Oh,  are  you?  "  said  Nora,  in  indignation.  "  I  should 
like  to  know,"  she  continued,  "  what  kind  of  place  you 
have  represented  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  to  be." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  obliged  to  answer  to 
you  for  what  I  say,  Nora,"  cried  her  brother. 

"  You  describe  it  now,  Nora.  We  will  hear  your  de- 
scription," said  her  uncle. 

Nora  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment ;  then  she  raised  her 
very  dark-blue  eyes. 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to  tell  you  about  O'Shan- 
aghgan ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear." 

"  Certainly,  Nora.  I  am  sure  you  can  describe  things 
very  well,"  said  her  aunt,  in  an  encouraging  voice,  from 
the  other  end  of  the  table. 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Nora.  She  paused  for  a 
moment,  then,  to  the  astonishment  and  disgust  of  Mrs, 
Hartrick,  rose  to  her  feet. 


TWO  DESCRIPTIONS.  147 

"  I  cannot  talk  about  it  sitting  down,"  she  said. 
"  There's  the  sea,  you  know — the  wild,  wild  Atlantic.  In 
the  winter  the  breakers  are — oh !  I  have  sometimes  seen 
them  forty  feet  high." 

"  Come,  come,  Nora !  "  said  Terence. 

"  It  is  true,  Terry ;  the  times  when  you  don't  like  to  go 
out." 

Terence  retired  into  his  shell. 

"  I  have  seen  the  waves  like  that ;  but,  oh !  in  the  sum- 
mer they  can  be  so  sweet  and  conoodling." 

"  What  in  the  world  is  that?  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 

"Oh,  it  is  one  of  our  Irish  words;  there's  no  other 
way  to  express  it.  And  then  there  are  the  cliffs,  and  the 
great  caves,  and  the  yellow,  yellow  sands,  and  the  shells, 
and  the  seaweeds,  and  the  fish,  and  the  boating,  and — 
and " 

"  Go  on,  Nora ;  you  describe  the  sea  just  like  any  other 
sea." 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  like  no  other  sea,"  said  Xora.  "  And 
then  there  are  the  mountains,  their  feet  washed  by  the 
waves." 

"  Quite  poetical,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 

"  It  is ;  it  is  all  poetry,"  said  Nora.  "  You  are  not 
laughing  at  me,  are  you,  Aunt  Grace  ?  I  wish  you  could 
see  those  mountains  and  that  sea,  and  then  the  home — 
O'Shanaghgan  itself." 

"  Yes,  Nora  ;  tell  us,"  said  her  uncle,  who  did  not  laugh, 
and  was  much  interested  in  the  girl's  description. 

"  The  home,"  cried  Nora ;  "  the  great  big,  darling, 
empty  house." 

"  Empty !  What  a  very  peculiar  description !  "  said 
Mrs.  Hartrick. 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  nice,"  said  Nora.  "  You  don't  knock  over 
furniture  when  you  walk  about ;  and  the'  dining-room 


148  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

table  is  so  big  that,  even  if  you  did  spill  a  jug  of  milk, 
father  would  not  be  angry." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  uttered  a  sigh. 

"  Oh,  we  are  wild  over  there,"  continued  Nora ;  "  we 
have  no  conventionalities.  We  share  and  share  alike; 
we  don't  mind  whether  we  are  rich  or  poor.  We  are 
poor — oh !  frightfully  poor ;  and  we  keep  very  few 
servants ;  and — and  the  place  is  bare ;  because  it  can 
be  nothing  but  bare;  but  there's  no  place  like  O'Shan- 
aghgan." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  bare  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick. 

"  Bare?  "  said  Xora.    "  I  mean  bare;  very  few  carpets 

and  very  little  furniture,  and — and But,  oh !  it's  the 

hearts  that  are  warm,  and  that  is  the  only  thing  that 
matters." 

"  It  must  be  a  right-down  jolly  place ;  and,  by  Jehosha- 
phat !  I  wish  I  was  there,"  interrupted  Molly. 

"  Molly !  "  said  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  leave  her  alone  for  the  present,"  said  Mr.  Hart- 
rick. "  But  do  you  mean,"  he  continued,  looking  at  Xora 
in  a  distressed  way,  "  that — that  my  sister  lives  in  a 
house  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"Mother?"  said  Xora.  "Of  course;  she  is  father's 
wife,  and  my  mother;  she  is  the  lady  of  O'Shanaghgan. 
It  is  a  very  proud  position.  We  don't  want  grand  fur- 
niture nor  carpets  to  make  it  a  proud  position.  She  is 
father's  wife,  and  he  is  O'Shanaghgan  of  Castle  O'Shan- 
aghgan. He  is  a  sort  of  king,  and  he  is  descended  from 
kings." 

"  Well.  Terence,  I  must  say  this  does  not  at  all  coin- 
cide with  your  description,"  said  his  uncle,  turning  and 
looking  his  nephew  full  in  the  face. 

"  I  didn't  wish  to  make  things  too  bad,  sir.    Of  course, 


TWO  DE SCRIP TIOXS.  149 

we  are  not  very  rich  over  there ;  but  still,  Nora  does  ex- 
aggerate." 

"  Look  here,  Nora,"  said  her  uncle,  suddenly  turning 
and  pulling  her  down  to  sit  beside  him,  "  you  and  I  must 
have  a  little  chat.  We  will  just  go  and  have  it  right 
away.  You  shall  tell  me  your  version  of  the  story  quite 
by  ourselves."  He  then  rose  and  drew  her  out  of  the 
room. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  he  said  when  they  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  conservatory,  into  which  the  big  dining 
room  opened. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?"  said  Xora. 

"  Mean  what,  dear  ?  " 

"  To  talk  to  me  about — about  my  letter  ?  Do  you 
mean  it?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,  and  there  is  no  time  like  the  present. 
Come — where  shall  we  go?" 

"  Where  we  can  be  alone ;  where  none  of  the  prim 
English  can  interrupt." 

"  Nora,  you  must  not  be  so  prejudiced.  We  are  not 
so  bad  as  all  that." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it.  I  wish  you  were  bad ;  it's  because 
you  are  so  awfully  good  that  I  hate — I  mean,  that  I  can- 
not get  on  with  any  of  you." 

"  Poor  child !  you  are  a  little  wild  creature.  Come 
into  my  study;  we  shall  be  quite  safe  from  interruption 
there." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A    COMPACT. 

Mr.  Hartrick,  still  holding  Nora's  hand,  took  her  down 
a  corridor,  and  the  next  moment  they  found  themselves 
in  a  large  room,  with  oak  bookcases  and  lined  with  oak 
throughout ;  but  it  was  a  stately  sort  of  apartment,  and 
it  oppressed  the  girl  as  much  as  the  rest  of  the  house  had 
done. 

"  I  had  thought,"  she  murmured  inwardly,  "  that  his 
study  would  be  a  little  bare.  I  cannot  think  how  he  can 
stand  such  closeness,  so  much  furniture.''  She  sighed 
as  the  thought  came  to  her. 

"  More  and  more  sighs,  my  little  Irish  girl,"  said  Mr. 
Hartrick.    "  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  I  cannot  breathe ;  but  I'll  soon  get  accustomed  to  it," 
said  Xora. 

"Cannot  breathe?  Are  you  subject  to  asthma,  my 
dear?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  but  there  is  so  much  furniture,  and  I 
am  accustomed  to  so  little." 

"  All  right,  Xora ;  but  now  you  must  pull  yourself 
together,  and  try  to  be  broad-minded  enough  to  take  us 
English  folk  as  we  are.  We  are  not  wild  ;  we  are  civilized. 
Our  houses  are  not  bare;  but  I  presume  you  must  con- 
sider them  comfortable." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Xora ;  "  yes." 

"Do  you  dislike  comfortable  houses?" 

"  Hate  them !  "  said  Xora. 

"  My  dear,  dear  child !  " 

150 


A    COMPACT.  151 

"  You  would  if  you  were  me — wouldn't  you,  Uncle 
George?  " 

"  I  suppose  if  I  were  you  I  should  feel  as  you  do, 
Nora.  I  must  honestly  say  I  am  very  thankful  I  am  not 
you." 

Nora  did  not  reply  at  all  to  that. 

':  Ah,  at  home  now,"  she  said,  "  the  moon  is  getting  up, 
and  it  is  making  a  path  of  silver  on  the  waves,  and  it  is 
touching  the  head  of  Slieve  Nagorna.  The  dear  old 
Slieve  generally  keeps  his  snow  nightcap  on,  and  I  dare 
say  he  has  it  by  now.  In  very  hot  weather,  sometimes, 
it  melts  and  disappears ;  but  probably  he  has  got  his  first 
coat  of  snow  by  now,  just  on  his  very  top,  you  know. 
Then,  when  the  moon  shines  on  it  and  then  on  the  water 
— why,  don't  you  think,  Uncle  George,  you  would  rather 
look  at  Slieve  Nagorna,  with  the  snow  on  him  and  the 
moon  touching  his  forehead,  and  the  path  of  silver  on  the 
water,  than — than  be  just  comfortable?" 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  not  have  both,"  said  Mr. 
Hartrick  after  a  pause ;  "  the  silver  path  on  the  water 
and  the  grand  look  of  Slieve  Nagorna  (I  can  quite  fancy 
what  he  is  like  from  your  description,  Nora),  and  also 
have  a  house  nicely  furnished,  and  good  things  to  eat, 

and .    But  I  see  we  are  at  daggers  drawn,  my  dear 

niece.    Now,  please  tell  me  what  your  letter  means." 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to  tell  you  now  ?  " 

"  Yes/' 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  really  come  here  ?  " 

"  You  said  something  in  your  letter ;  but  you  did  not 
explain  yourself  very  clearly." 

"  I  came  here,"  said  Nora,  "  for  a  short  visit.  I  want 
to  go  back  again  soon.  Time  is  flying.  Already  a  month 
of  the  three  months  is  over.  In  two  months'  time  the 
blow  will  fall  unless — unless  you,  Uncle  George,  avert  it." 


15 2  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  The  blow,  dear  ?    What  blow  ?  " 

"  They  are  going,"  said  Nora — she  held  out  both  her 
hands — "  the  place,  the  sea,  the  mountains,  the  home  of 
our  ancestors,  they  are  going  unless — unless  you  help  us, 
Uncle  George." 

"  My  dear  Nora,  you  are  very  melodramatic ;  you  must 
try  and  talk  plain  English.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
Castle  O'Shanaghgan " 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Nora ;  "  it  is  mortgaged.  I  don't 
quite  know  what  mortgaged  means,  but  it  is  something 
very  bad ;  and  unless  father  can  get  a  great  deal  of  money 
— I  don't  know  how  much,  but  a  good  deal — before  two 
months  are  up,  the  man  to  whom  Castle  O'Shanaghgan 
is  mortgaged  will  take  possession  of  it.  He  is  a  horrid 
Englishman ;  but  he  will  go  there,  and  he  will  turn  father 
out,  and  mother  out,  and  me — oh,  Terence  doesn't  mat- 
ter. Terence  never  was  an  Irishman — never,  never;  but 
he  will  turn  us  out.  We  will  go  away.  Oh,  it  does  not 
greatly  matter  for  me,  because  I  am  young;  and  it  does 
not  greatly  matter  for  mother,  because  she  is  an  Eng- 
lish woman.  Oh,  yes,  Uncle  George,  she  is  just  like  you 
— she  likes  comfort ;  she  likes  richly  furnished  rooms ; 
but  she  is  my  mother,  and  of  course  I  love  her ;  she  will 
stand  it,  for  she  will  think  perhaps  we  will  come  here 
to  this  country.  But  it  is  father  I  am  thinking  of,  the 
old  lion,  the  old  king,  the  dear,  grand  old  father.  He 
won't  understand,  he'll  be  so  puzzled.  No  other  place 
will  suit  him  ;  he  won't  say  a  word ;  it's  not  the  way  of 
the  O'Shanaghgans  to  grumble.  He  won't  utter  a  word ; 
he  will  go  away,  and  he  will — die.  His  heart  will  be 
broken  ;  he  will  die." 

"  Nora,  my  dear  child !  " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Nora.  Her  face  was  ghastly  white; 
her  words  came  out  in  broken  sobs.     "  I  see  him,  Uncle 


A    COMPACT.  153 

George;  every  night  I  see  him,  with  his  bowed  head, 
and  his  broken  heart,  and  his  steps  getting  slower  and 
slower.  He'll  be  so  puzzled,  for  he  is  such  a  true  irish- 
man, Uncle  George.  You  don't  know  what  we  are — 
happy  one  day,  miserable  the  next.  He  thinks  somehow, 
somehow,  that  the  money  will  be  paid.  But,  oh,  Uncle 
George ! — I  suppose  I  have  got  a  little  bit  of  the  English 
in  me  after  all — I  know  it  will  not  be  paid,  that  no  one 
will  lend  it  to  him,  not  any  of  his  old  friends  and  cronies ; 
and  he  will  have  to  go,  and  it  will  break  his  heart,  unless, 
unless  you  help  him.  I  thought  of  you ;  I  guessed  you 
must  be  rich.  I  see  now  that  you  are  very  rich.  Oh, 
how  rich ! — rich  enough  for  carriages,  and  thick  carpets, 
and  easy-chairs,  and  tables,  and  grand  dresses,  and — and 
all  those  sort  of  things;  and  you  will  help — won't  you? 
Please,  do!  please,  do!  You'll  be  so  glad  some  day  that 
you  helped  the  old  king,  and  saved  him  from  dying  of  a 
broken  heart.     Please,  help  him,  Uncle  George." 

"  My  dear  little  girl !  "  said  Mr.  Hartrick.  He  was 
really  affected  by  Nora's  speech ;  it  was  wild ;  it  was  un- 
conventional ;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  false  sentiment 
about  it;  but  the  child  herself  was  true,  and  her  eyes 
were  beautiful,  and  she  looked  graceful,  and  young,  and 
full  of  passion,  almost  primeval  passion,  as  she  stood  there 
before  him.  Then  she  believed  in  him.  If  she  did  not 
believe  in  anyone  else  in  the  house,  she  believed  in  him. 
She  thought  that  if  she  asked  him  he  would  help. 

"  Now,  tell  me,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  does  your 
mother  know  what  you  have  come  here  for?  " 

"Mother?  Certainly  not;  I  told  you  in  my  letter  that 
you  must  not  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  mother ;  and  father 
does  not  know.     No  one  knows  but  I — Nora,  I  myself." 

"  This  has  been  completely  your  own  idea  ?  " 

"  Completely." 


154  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  being  brave.  I  had  to  do 
something.  If  you  belonged  to  Patrick  O'Shanaghgan 
you  would  do  something  for  him  too.  Have  you  ever 
seen  him,  Uncle  George?  " 

"  Yes,  at  the  time  of  my  sister's  wedding,  but  not 
since." 

"And  then?" 

"  He  was  as  handsome  a  fellow  as  I  ever  laid  eyes  on, 
and  Irish  through  and  through." 

"  Of  course.     What  else  would  he  be?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  since.  My  sister,  poor  Ellen, 
she  was  a  beautiful  girl  when  she  was  young,  Nora." 

"  She  is  stately,  like  a  queen,"  said  Nora.  "  We  all  ad- 
mire her  very,  very  much." 

"  And  love  her,  my  dear?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course  I  love  mother." 

"  But  not  as  well  as  your  father?  " 

"  You  could  not,  Uncle  George,  if  you  knew  father." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  ask  any  more.  You  really  do  want 
me  to  help?  " 

"  If  you  can;  if  it  will  not  cost  you  too  much  money." 

"  And  you  mean  that  your  father  is  absolutely,  down- 
right poor?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  think  that  matters  a  bit. 
We  wouldn't  like  to  be  rich,  neither  father  nor  I ;  but  we 
do  want  to  keep  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  Even  without  carpets  and  chairs  and  tables  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Hartrick. 

"  We  don't  care  about  carpets  and  chairs  and  tables," 
said  Nora.  "  We  want  to  keep  O'Shanaghgan,  the  place 
where  father  was  born  and  I  was  born." 

"  Well,  look  here,  Nora.  I  can  make  you  no  promises 
just  now;  but  I  respect  you,  my  dear,  and  I  will  cer- 


A    COMPACT.  155 

tainly  do  something — what  I  cannot  possibly  tell  you, 
for  I  must  look  into  this  matter  for  myself.  But  I  will 
do  this:  I  will  go  to  O'Shanaghgan  this  week  and  see 
my  sister,  and  find  out  from  the  Squire  what  really  is 
wrong." 

"  You  will  ?  "  said  Nora.  She  thought  quickly.  Her 
father  would  hate  it ;  but,  after  all,  it  was  the  only  chance. 
Even  she  had  sufficient  common  sense  to  know  that  Mr. 
Hartrick  could  not  help  unless  he  went  to  the  old  place. 

"  Oh,  you  will  do  it  when  you  see  it,"  she  said,  with 
sudden  rapture.    "  And  you'll  take  me  home  with  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  not,  Nora.  Now  that  you  are  here  you 
must  stay.  I  am  fond  of  you,  my  little  girl,  although  I 
know  very  little  about  you ;  but  I  do  think  that  you  have 
very  mistaken  ideas.  I  want  you  to  love  your  English 
cousins  for  your  mother's  sake,  and  to  love  their  home 
for  your  mother's  sake  also ;  and  I  should  like  you  to  have 
a  few  lessons,  and  to  take  some  hints  from  your  Aunt 
Grace,  for  you  are  wild,  and  need  training.  If  I  go  to 
O'Shanaghgan  for  you,  will  you  stay  at  The  Laurels 
for  me?  " 

"  I  will  do  anything,  anything  for  you,  if  you  save 
father,"  said  Nora.  She  fell  on  her  knees  before  her 
uncle  could  prevent  her,  took  his  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"  Then  it  is  a  compact,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick ;  "  but  re- 
member I  only  promise  to  go.  I  cannot  make  any  prom- 
ises to  help  your  father  until  I  have  seen  him." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

SHE   WILL   SOON   TAME  DOWN. 

"  I  am  going  to  Ireland  to-morrow,  Grace,"  said  Mr. 
Hartrick  to  his  wife  that  evening. 

"  To  Ireland  !  "  she  cried.    "  What  for?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  my  sister  Ellen.  I  feel  that  I  have 
neglected  her  too  long.  I  shall  run  over  to  O'Shanaghgan, 
and  stay  there  for  two  or  three  nights." 

"  Why  are  you  doing  this,  George?  "  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick very  slowly. 

Mr.  Hartrick  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  said 
gravely : 

"  I  have  heard  bad  news  from  that  child." 

"  From  Nora?" 

"  Yes,  from  Nora." 

"  But  Terence  has  never  given  us  bad  news." 

"  Terence  is  not  a  patch  upon  Nora,  my  dear  Grace." 

"  There  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  I  infinitely  prefer 
Terence  to  Nora,"  was  Mrs.  Hartrick's  calm  reply. 

"  But  I  thought  you  admired  the  child." 

"  Oh,  I  admire  what  the  child  may  become,"  was  the 
cautious  answer.  "  I  cannot  admire  a  perfectly  wild  girl, 
who  has  no  idea  of  self-discipline  or  self-restraint.  And 
remember  one  thing,  George :  whatever  she  says  to  you, 
you  must  take,  to  use  a  vulgarism,  with  a  grain  of  salt. 
An  Irish  girl  canot  help  exaggerating.  She  has  doubtless 
exaggerated  the  condition  of  things." 

"  I  only  pray  God  she  has,"  was  Mr.  Hartrick's  reply. 


SHE    WILL   SOON    TAME  DOWN.  157 

"  If  things  are  even  half  as  bad  as  she  represents  them, 
it  is  high  time  that  I  should  pay  my  sister  a  visit." 

"  Why?     What  does  she  say?  " 

"  She  has  given  me  a  picture  of  the  state  of  affairs  at 
that  house  which  wrings  my  heart,  Grace.  To  think  that 
my  beautiful  sister  Ellen  should  be  subjected  to  such  dis- 
comforts, to  such  miseries,  is  intolerable.  I  intend  to  go 
to  O'Shanaghgan  to-morrow,  and  will  see  how  matters 
are  for  myself." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  was  again  silent  for  a  moment  or  two ; 
then  she  said  gravely  : 

"  Doubtless  you  are  right  to  do  this;  but  I  hope,  while 
you  are  away,  you  will  do  nothing  rash." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  from  the  little  I  have  seen  of  Xora,  she 
is  a  very  impetuous  creature,  and  has  tried  perhaps  to 
wring  a  promise  from  you." 

"  I  will  tell  you  quite  simply  what  she  has  said,  Grace, 
and  then  you  will  understand.  She  says  her  father  has 
mortgaged  the  Castle  evidently  up  to  the  hilt.  The  mort- 
gagees will  foreclose  in  a  couple  of  months,  unless  money 
can  be  found  to  buy  them  off.  Now,  it  has  just  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  buy  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  for  our- 
selves as  a  sort  of  summer  residence,  put  it  in  order,  and 
allow  Patrick  O'Shanaghgan  to  live  there,  and  my  sister. 
By  and  by  the  place  can  go  to  Terence,  as  we  have 
no  son  of  our  own.  I  have  plenty  of  money.  What  do 
you  think  of  this  suggestion,  Grace  ?  " 

"  It  might  not  be  a  bad  one,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick ;  "  but 
I  could  not  possibly  go  to  a  place  of  that  sort  unless  it 
were  put  into  proper  repair." 

"  It  is,  I  believe,  in  reality  a  fine  old  place,  and  the 
grounds  are  beautiful,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick.  "  A  few 
thousand  pounds  would  put  it  into  order,  and  we  could 


158  LIGHT  <T    THE   MORNING. 

furnish  it  from  Dublin.  You  could  have  a  great  many 
guests  there,  and " 

"  But  what  about  the  O'Shanaghgans  themselves?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  they  would  go  somewhere  else  for  the 
couple  of  months  we  should  need  to  occupy  the  house 
during  the  summer.  Anyhow,  I  feel  that  I  must  do 
something  for  Ellen's  sake ;  but  I  will  let  you  know  more 
after  I  have  been  there." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  asked  a  few  more  questions.  After  a 
time  she  said : 

"  Is  Xora  to  remain  here?  " 

"  Yes.  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  that.  It 
is  a  sad  pity  that  so  pretty  a  girl  should  grow  up  wild. 
We  had  better  keep  her  with  us  for  the  next  two  or  three 
years.  She  will  soon  tame  down  and  learn  our  English 
habits ;  then,  with  her  undeniable  Irish  charm  and  great 
beauty,  she  will  be  able  to  do  something  with  her  life." 

"  I  shall  be  quite  pleased  to  have  her,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick in  a  cordial  tone.  "  I  like  training  young  girls,  and 
Nora  is  the  sort  who  would  do  me  credit  if  she  really  were 
willing  to  take  pains." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  be ;  she  is  an  honest  little  soul." 

"  Oh,  I  see  you  are  bewitched  by  her." 

"  Xo,  not  bewitched ;  but  I  admire  honesty  and  can- 
dor, and  the  child  has  got  both." 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick,  "  if  it  is  arranged 
that  Xora  is  to  stay  here,  I  will  go  and  see  Miss  Flowers 
at  Linda's  and  Molly's  school  to-morrow,  and  ask  if  Nora 
can  be  admitted  as  a  pupil.  There  is  no  use  in  losing 
time,  and  she  may  as  well  start  her  lessons  next  week.. 
By  all  means,  George,  go  and  do  your  best  for  the  poor 
things.  Of  course  your  sister  ought  not  to  be  allowed 
to  be  in  money  difficulties." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick. 


SHE    WILL   SOON   TAME  DOWN.  159 

The  next  day  Mr.  Hartrick  bade  Nora  and  his  own 
family  good-by,  and  started  on  his  expedition  to  Ireland. 
Nora  was  quivering  with  impatience.  When  she 
had  seen  the  last  of  him  she  turned  back  into  the  house, 
and  was  there  met  by  her  brother  Terence. 

"  Come  here,  Nora.     I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said. 

She  followed  him  into  the  nearest  room.  He  closed 
the  door  behind  them. 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  have  been  saying  to  Uncle 
George  ?  " 

"  You  may  ask,  of  course,  Terry;  but  I  don't  mean  to 
tell  you,"  answered  Nora. 

"  It  is  because  of  you  he  is  going  to  Ireland?  " 

"  It  is  because  of  something  I  have  said." 

"  How  do  you  think  our  mother  will  like  it?  You 
knowr  how  proud  she  is ;  how  all  these  years  she  has  de- 
termined to  put  a  good  face  on  things,  and  not  to  allow 
her  relations  in  England  to  know  the  truth.  I  have  fol- 
lowed her  cue,  and  have  been  careful  to  make  the  very 
best  of  things  at  Castle  O'Shanaghgan." 

"  Oh,  it  is  easy  to  tell  lies,"  said  Nora,  with  scorn. 

"  Nora,  you  talk  in  a  very  silly  wTay,  and  I  often  have 
no  patience  with  you,"  answered  her  brother.  "  If  I  have 
regard  to  my  mother's  feelings,  why  should  you  despise 
me?  You  are  supposed  to  consider  our  father's  feel- 
ings." 

"  That  is  very  different;  the  whole  thing  is  different," 
said  Nora.  She  flushed,  bit  her  lip,  and  then  turned 
away. 

"  You  must  hear  me,"  said  Terence,  looking  at  her  with 
some  impatience ;  "  you  must,  you  shall.  You  are  quite 
intolerable  with  your  conceit  and  your  silly,  silly  Irish 
ways." 

"  Well,  go  on.     What  have  you  to  say  to  me?  " 


160  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

u  That  I  think  you  were  guilty  of  dishonor  in  talking 
as  you  did  at  dinner  last  night.  You  spoke  of  the  place 
and  the  poverty  in  a  way  which  quite  put  me  to  the  blush. 
I  hope  in  future,  while  you  are  here,  you  will  cease  to  run 
the  O'Shanaghgans  down.  It  is  not  worthy  of  you, 
Nora,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  Run  them  down — I  ?  "  said  poor  Nora  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  you." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  she  was  making  a  great 
effort  to  recover  her  equanimity.  Was  Terence  right? 
Had  she  done  wrong  to  speak  before  her  aunt  and  cousins 
as  she  had  done?  Of  course  her  uncle  was  different ;  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  at  least  should  know 
the  truth.  A  distressful  sense  of  dismay  at  her  own  im- 
petuosity came  over  her.  Terence  watched  her  narrowly. 
He  was  fond  of  Nora  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  and  also 
proud  of  her;  and  now  that  he  saw  she  was  really  sorry 
he  went  up  to  her,  put  his  arm  round  her  neck,  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Never  mind,  little  girl,"  he  said,  "  you  are  young. 
Try  to  be  guided  by  me  in  future,  and  do  not  give  your- 
self away.  We  Irish  wear  our  hearts  on  our  sleeves,  and 
that  sort  of  thing  does  not  go  down  in  England." 

"  Oh,  how  I  hate  this  cold  England !  "  said  the  Irish 
girl,  with  passion. 

"  There  you  are  again,  all  your  feelings  expressed  too 
broadly.  You  will  never  endure  life  if  you  go  on  as  you 
have  be^un,  Nora." 

"  Terence,"  said  Nora,  looking  up  at  him,  "  when  are 
you  going  home?  " 

"When  am  I  going  home?  Thank  you.  I  am  very 
comfortable  here." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  just  at  present,  when   father 


SHE    WILL   SOON   TAME  DOWN.  161 

is  in  trouble,  his  only  son,  the  heir  of  O'Shanaghgan, 
ought  to  be  with  him  ?  " 

"  Poor  old  O'Shanaghgan,"  said  the  lad,  with  impa- 
tience ;  "  you  think  that  it  comprises  the  whole  of  the 
world.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Nora,  I  am  made  differently, 
and  I  infinitely  prefer  England.  My  uncle  has  been  kind 
enough  to  offer  me  a  small  post  in  his  business.  Did  I 
not  tell  you?" 

"  No,  no ;  I  never  knew  what  my  uncle's  business  was." 

"  He  is  a  merchant  prince,  Nora ;  an  enormously  rich 
man.  He  owns  warehouses  upon  warehouses.  He  has 
offered  me  a  post  in  one — a  very  good  post,  and  a  certain 
income." 

"  And  you  mean  to  accept?  "  said  Nora,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing fire. 

"  Well,  I  am  writing  to  mother  on  the  subject.  I  think 
it  would  be  well  to  do  so." 

"You,  an  O'Shanaghgan,  will  descend  to  trade?"  re- 
plied the  girl. 

"  Oh,  folly !  folly !  Nora,  your  ideas  are  really  too  an- 
tiquated." 

Nora  did  not  speak  at  all  for  a  moment;  then  she 
walked  toward  the  door. 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  she  said.  "  I  am  awfully 
sorry.  I  was  born  different;  I  was  made  different.  I 
cannot  understand  why  you  should  bring  dishonor  to  the 
old  place." 

"  By  earning  a  little  money  to  keep  us  all  from  beg- 
gary," retorted  the  lad  in  a  bitter  tone;  but  Nora  did 
not  hear  him;  she  had  left  the  room.  Her  eyes  were 
smarting  with  unshed  tears.  She  went  out  into  the 
shrubbery  in  search  of  Molly. 

"  But  for  Molly  I  should  break  my  heart,"  she  thought. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

STEPHANOTIE. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  made  all  necessary  arrangements,  and 
on  the  following  Monday  Nora  accompanied  her  cousin 
to  school.     Molly  was  much  delighted. 

"  Xow  I  shall  be  able  to  work,"  she  said,  "  and  I  won't 
be  guilty  of  slang  when  you  are  by.  Don't  whisper  it  to 
Linda.  She  would  be  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  bliss,  and 
I  detest  pleasing  her;  but  I  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  for  you,  Nora  creena." 

X'ora  gave  her  cousin's  arm  an  affectionate  squeeze. 

"  I  have  never  been  to  school,"  said  Nora;  "  you  must 
instruct  me  what  I  am  to  do." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear !  "  said  Molly,  "  you  won't  need  in- 
struction ;  you  are  as  sharp  and  smart  as  any  girl  could 
be.  You'll  be  a  little  puzzled  at  first  about  the  different 
classes,  and  I'll  give  you  hints  about  how  to  take  notes 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  you  will  quickly  get  into 
the  way  of  it,  and  then  you'll  learn  like  a  house  on  fire." 

"  I  wish  you  two  wouldn't  whisper  together  so  much," 
said  Linda  in  an  annoyed  voice.  "  I  am  going  over  my 
French  parsing  to  myself,  and  you  do  interrupt  me  so." 

"  Then  walk  a  little  farther  away  from  us,"  said  Molly 
rudely. 

She  turned  once  more  to  her  cousin. 

"  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  very  nicest  girls  in  my 
form,"  she  said.  "  I  do  hope  you'll  be  put  into  my  form, 
for  then  in  the  evenings  you  and  I  can  do  our  work  to- 
gether.    I  expect  you  know  about  as  much  as  I  do." 


STEPHANOTIE.  163 

"  But  that's  just  it — I  don't,"  said  Nora.  "  I  have  not 
learned  a  bit  in  the  school  way.  I  had  a  governess  for  a 
time,  but  she  did  not  know  a  great  deal.  Of  course 
mother  taught  me  too ;  but  I  have  not  had  advantages.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  I  were  put  into  the  lowest 
form." 

They  now  arrived  at  the  school,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  Nora  found  herself  in  a  huge  classroom  in  which 
about  sixty  other  girls  were  assembled.  Miss  Flowers 
presently  sent  a  pupil-teacher  to  ask  Miss  O'Shanaghgan 
to  have  an  interview  with  her  in  her  private  room. 

Miss  Flowers  was  about  fifty  years  of  age.  She  had 
white  hair,  calm,  large,  well-opened  blue  eyes,  a  stead- 
fast mouth,  and  a  gracious  and  at  the  same  time  dignified 
manner.  She  was  not  exactly  beautiful ;  but  she  had 
the  sort  of  face  which  most  girls  respected  and  which 
many  loved.  Nora  looked  earnestly  at  her,  and  in 
her  wild,  impulsive  Irish  fashion,  gave  her  heart  on  the 
spot. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear?"  said  the  head-mis- 
tress kindly. 

Nora  told  it. 

"  You  are  Irish,  Mrs.  Hartrick  tells  me." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Flowers,  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  Ire- 
land." 

"  I  must  find  out  what  sort  of  instruction  you  have  had. 
Have  you  ever  been  at  school  before  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Sixteen,  Miss  Flowers." 

"  What  things  have  you  been  taught?  " 

"  English  subjects  of  different  sorts,"  replied  Nora. 
"  A  little  music — oh,  I  love  music,  I  do  love  music ! — and 
a  little  French ;  and  I  can  speak  Irish,"  she  added,  raising 


1 64  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

her  beautiful,  dark-blue  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  the  face 
of  the  head-mistress.  That  winsome  face  touched  Miss 
Flowers'  heart. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you,"  she  said.  "  For  the 
present  you  had  better  study  alone.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  or  so  I  shall  be  able  to  determine  what  form  to  put 
you  in.  Xow,  go  back  to  the  schoolroom  and  ask  Miss 
Goring  to  come  to  me." 

Miss  Goring  was  the  English  mistress.  Miss  Flowers 
saw  her  alone  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Do  what  you  can  for  the  Irish  girl,"  she  said.  "  She 
is  a  very  pretty  creature ;  she  is  evidently  ignorant ;  but  I 
think  she  has  plenty  of  talent." 

Miss  Goring  went  back,  and  during  the  rest  of  the 
morning  devoted  herself  to  Nora.  Nora  had  varied  and 
strange  acquirements  at  her  finger's  ends.  She  was  up  in 
all  sorts  of  folk  lore ;  she  could  clothe  her  speech  in  pic- 
turesque and  striking  language.  She  could  repeat  poetry 
from  Sir  Walter  Scott,  from  Shakspere,  from  the  old 
Irish  bards  themselves ;  but  her  grammar  was  defective, 
although  her  reading  aloud  was  very  pretty  and  sweet. 
Her  knowledge  of  history  was  vague,  and  might  be  best 
described  by  the  expression,  up  and  down.  She  knew  all 
about  the  Waldenses ;  she  had  a  vivid  picture  in  her 
mind's  eye  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Eve.  The  French 
Revolution  appalled  and,  at  the  same  time,  attracted  her. 
The  death  of  Charles  I.  drew  tears  from  her  eyes ;  but 
she  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  chronological  arrange- 
ments of  history;  and  the  youngest  girl  in  the  school 
could  have  put  her  to  shame  with  regard  to  the  Magna 
Charta.  It  was  just  the  same  with  every  branch  of 
knowledge  which  Nora  had  even  a  smattering  of. 

At  last  the  great  test  of  all  came — could  she  play  or 
could  she  not?     She  had  spoken  often  of  her  passionate 


STEPHANOTJE.  165 

love  for  music.  Miss  Goring  took  her  into  the  drawing 
room,  away  from  the  other  girls. 

"  I  am  not  supposed  to  be  musical,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
think  I  know  music  when  I  hear  it.  If  you  have  talent, 
you  shall  have  plenty  of  advantages  here.  Now,  sit 
down  and  play  something  for  me." 

"What!  At  that  piano?"  said  Nora,  her  eyes  spar- 
kling. Miss  Goring  had  opened  a  magnificent  Broad- 
wood  grand. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  It  is  rather  daring  of  me  to  bring 
you  here;  but  I  want  you  to  have  fair  play." 

"  I  never  played  on  a  really  good  piano  in  my  life,"  said 
Nora.     "  May  I  venture  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  do  not  believe  you  will  injure  it." 

"  May  I  play  as  loud  as  I  like,  and  as  soft  as  I 
like?" 

"  Certainly.  You  may  play  exactly  as  you  please ;  only 
play  with  all  your  heart.  You  will  be  taught  scientific 
music  doubtless ;  but  I  want  to  know  what  you  can  do 
without  education,  at  present." 

Nora  sat  down.  At  first  she  felt  a  little  shy,  and  all 
her  surroundings  were  so  strange,  the  piano  was  so  big; 
she  touched  it  with  her  small,  taper  fingers,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  the  deep,  soft  notes  were  going  to  overpower 
her.  Then  she  looked  at  Miss  Goring  and  felt  uncom- 
fortable; but  she  touched  the  notes  again,  and  she  be- 
gan to  forget  the  room,  and  Miss  Goring,  and  the  grand 
piano;  and  the  soul  of  music  stood  in  her  eyes  and 
touched  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  The  music  was  quite 
unclassical,  quite  unconventional;  but  it  was  music — a 
wild  kind  of  wailing  chant — the  notes  of  the  Banshee  it- 
self. Nora  played  on,  and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  and 
streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  it  hurts  so !  "  she  said  at  last,  and  she  looked  full 


1 66  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

up  at  Miss  Goring.  Behold,  the  cold,  gray  eyes  of  the 
English  teacher  were  also  full  of  tears. 

"  You  terrify  me,"  she  said.  "  Where  did  you  hear 
anything  like  that  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  wail  of  the  Banshee.  Shall  I  play  any 
more?  " 

"  Nothing  more  so  eerie." 

"  Then  may  I  sing  for  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  sing?  " 

"  I  was  never  taught ;  but  I  think  I  can  sing."  Nora 
struck  a  few  chords  again.  She  sang  the  pathetic  words, 
"  She  is  Far  from  the  Land,"  and  Miss  Goring  felt  the 
tears  filling  her  eyes  once  more. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  she  said,  as  she  led  her  pupil  back 
to  the  schoolroom,  "  you  can  play  and  you  can  sing ;  you 
have  music  in  you.  It  would  be  worth  while  to  give  you 
good  lessons." 

Nora's  musical  education  was  now  taken  up  with  vigor. 
Miss  Goring  spoke  to  Miss  Flowers  about  it,  and  Miss 
Flowers  communicated  with  Mrs.  Hartrick;  and  Mrs. 
Hartrick  was  extremely  pleased  to  find  that  she  had  a 
musical  genius  in  her  midst,  and  determined  to  give  that 
same  musical  genius  every  chance.  Accordingly,  the  very 
best  master  in  the  school  arranged  to  give  Nora  lessons, 
and  a  mistress  of  striking  ability  took  her  also  in  hand. 
Nora's  wild  music,  the  music  that  came  from  her  heart, 
and  the  song  that  bubbled  from  her  lips,  were  absolutely 
silenced.  She  must  not  sing  at  will ;  she  must  on  no  ac- 
count play  at  will.  The  dullest  of  exercises  were  given  to 
her  for  the  purpose  of  molding  her  fingers,  and  the  dull- 
est of  voice  exercises  were  also  given  to  her  for  the  pur- 
pose of  molding  her  voice.  She  struggled  against  the  dis- 
cipline, and  hated  it.     She  was  essentially  a  child  of  na- 


STEPHANOTIE.  167 

ture,  and  this  first  putting  on  of  the  chains  of  education 
was  the  reverse  of  pleasant. 

"  Oh,  Molly,"  she  said,  "  what  is  the  good  of  singing 
those  hateful,  screaming  exercises,  and  those  scales? 
They  are  too  detestable,  and  those  little  twists  and  turns. 
My  fingers  absolutely  feel  quite  nervous.  What  is  the 
use?     What  is  the  use?  " 

Molly  also  sighed  and  said,  "  What  is  the  use  ?  "  But 
then  the  musical  mistress  and  the  great  master  looked  at 
Nora  all  over  when  she  made  similar  remarks,  and  would 
not  even  vouchsafe  to  answer. 

"  Father  would  never  be  soothed  with  that  sort  of 
music,"  she  said.  "  I  think  he  would  be  very  glad  we 
had  not  a  good   piano.     Oh,   Molly,   what  does   it  all 


mean 


?  " 


"  I  don't  know,"  said  Molly.  "  It's  like  all  other  edu- 
cation, nothing  but  grind,  grind ;  but  I  suppose  something 
will  come  of  it  in  the  long  run." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  girls?"  said  Mrs. 
Hartrick,  who  just  then  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
"  Nora,  I  am  pleased  to  get  very  good  reports  of  your 
music." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Nora,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  Aunt 
Grace ;  and  I  shall  be  able  to  speak  to  you.  Must  I  learn 
what  takes  all  the  music  out  of  me  ?  " 

"  Silly  child.  There  is  only  one  road  to  a  sound  musi- 
cal education,  and  that  is  the  road  of  toil.  At  present 
you  play  by  ear,  and  sing  by  ear.  You  have  talent ;  but  it 
must  be  cultivated.  Just  believe  that  your  elders  know 
what  they  are  about." 

Nora  did  not  say  anything.  Mrs.  Hartrick,  after  look- 
ing at  her  gravely  for  a  moment,  continued  her  gentle 
walk  round  the  shrubbery.     Molly  uttered  a  sigh. 


1 68  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  There's  no  good,  Nora,"  she  said.  "  You'll  have  to 
go  through  with  it.  I  suppose  it  is  the  only  way;  but 
it's  hard  to  believe  it." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  enjoy  other  things  in  my  school 
life,"  said  Nora.  "  Miss  Goring  is  so  nice,  and  I  quite 
love  Miss  Flowers ;  and,  after  all,  I  am  in  your  form, 
Molly,  and  we  do  like  doing  our  lessons  together." 

"  To  be  sure  we  do;  life  is  quite  a  different  thing  for 
me  since  you  have  come  here,"  was  Molly's  retort. 

"  And  you  have  been  very  good  indeed  about  your 
naughty  words,  you  know,"  said  Nora,  nestling  up  to  her 
cousin. 

"  Have  I?  Well,  it's  owing  to  you.  You  see,  now,  I 
have  someone  to  help  me — someone  to  understand  me." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Nora ;  "  but  I  won't  be  here  very  long." 

"  Not  here  very  long !  Why,  you  must.  What  is  the 
use  of  beginning  school  and  then  stopping  it?  " 

"  School  or  no  school,  my  place  is  by  father's  side.  It 
is  a  long,  long  time  since  we  heard  from  Uncle  George. 
As  soon  as  ever  he  comes  back  I  go." 

"  Father  has  been  a  whole  month  in  Ireland  now,"  said 
Molly.  "  I  cannot  imagine  what  he  is  doing.  I  think 
mother  fidgets  rather.  She  has  very  long  letters  from 
him,  and " 

"  And,  do  you  know,"  said  Nora,  "  that  father  has  not 
written  to  me  once — no,  not  once  since  Uncle  George  went 
over?     I  am  absolutely  in  the  dark." 

"  I  wonder  you  stand  it,"  said  Molly.  "  You  are  so 
impetuous.     I  cannot  imagine  why  you  don't  fly  back." 

"  I  could  not,"  said  Nora. 

"  Could  not?     What  is  there  to  hinder  you?  " 

"  I  have  given  my  word." 

"Your  word?     To  whom?" 

"  To  your  father.     He  went  to  Ireland  to  please  me." 


STEPHANOTIE.  169 

" Oh,  did  he?  That's  exciting,"  said  Molly.  "  Father 
went  to  Ireland  to  please  a  little  chit  like  you.  Now, 
what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  It  means  exactly  what  I  have  said.  He  went  because 
I  begged  him  to;  because  I  explained  things  to  him,  and 
he  said  he  would  go.  But  he  made  a  condition,  and  I  am 
bound  to  stick  to  my  part  of  it." 

"  And  that  was How  your  eyes  shine,  Nora !  " 

"  That  was,  that  I  am  to  stay  patiently  here,  and  get 
as  English  as  ever  I  can.  Oh !  I  must  stick  to  my  part  of 
the  bargain." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  say  you  look  very  happy,"  said  Molly, 
"  although  you  are  such  a  favorite  at  the  school.  If  I 
was  not  very  fond  of  you  myself  I  should  be  jealous.  If  I 
had  a  friend  whom  I  really  worshiped,  before  you  ap- 
peared on  the  scene,  it  was  Stephanotie  Miller,  the  Ameri- 
can girl." 

"  Oh,  isn't  she  charming?"  said  Nora.  "She  makes 
me  laugh.     I  am  sure  she  has  Irish  blood  in  her." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  she's  a  Yankee  of  the  Yankees." 

"  Well,  she  has  been  sent  to  school  to  get  tame,  just 
as  I  have  been,"  said  Nora ;  "  but  I  don't  want  you  to  lose 
her  friendship.  After  all,  I  care  very  little  for  anyone 
in  the  school  but  you,  Molly ;  only  Stephanotie  makes  me 
laugh." 

"  We'll  have  her  to  tea  to-morrow.  I'll  run  in  now 
and  ask  mother.  I  shan't  mind  a  bit  if  you  are  not  going 
quite  to  take  her  from  me.  After  all,  she  can  be  friends 
with  both  of  us.  I'll  run  into  the  house  this  moment,  and 
ask  mother  if  we  may  have  Stephanotie  to  tea." 

Molly  rushed  into  the  house.  Her  mother  was  seated 
in  the  morning  room,  busily  writing. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  well?  "  she  said.  "  I  hear  you — you 
need  not  bang  the  door.     What  is  it,  Molly  ?  " 


17°  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"Oh,  mother!  do  look  up  and  listen." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  raised  her  head  slowly. 

"  Yes,  dear?  "  she  said. 

"  I  have  behaved  a  great  deal  better  lately — have  I 
not,  mother?  " 

"  You  certainly  have,  Molly ;  and  I  am  pleased  with 
you.  If  you  would  restrain  some  of  your  impetuosity, 
I  should  be  glad  to  tell  you  how  pleased  I  am." 

"  It  is  all  owing  to  Nora." 

"  To  Nora,  my  dear !     Nora  is  as  wild  as  you  are." 

"  All  the  same,  it  is  owing  to  Nora ;  and  she  is  not  as 
wild  as  I  am.  I  mean  that  I  have  been  downright  vul- 
gar ;  but  if  you  think  there  is  one  trace  of  that  in  little 
Nora,  it  is  because  you  do  not  know  her  a  bit." 

"  What  is  your  special  request,  Molly?  I  am  very 
busy  just  now,  and  cannot  discuss  your  cousin's  charac- 
ter.    You  have  improved,  and  I  am  pleased  with  you." 

"  Then,  if  you  are  pleased  with  me,  mother,  will  you  do 
me  a  favor?  " 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Stephanotie  Miller  has  never  been  at  our  house." 

"  Stephanotie  Miller.  What  an  outlandish  name! 
Who  is  she?" 

"  She  is  a  dear,  jolly,  sweet,  handsome  American  girl. 
She  came  to  school  last  term,  and  she  is  in  the  same  form 
with  Nora  and  me ;  and  we  both  adore  her,  yes  we  do. 
Whatever  she  does,  and  whatever  she  says,  we  think 
simply  perfection ;  and  we  want  to  ask  her  here.  She  is 
staying  with  a  rather  tiresome  aunt,  in  a  little  house  in 
the  village,  and  she  has  come  over  to  be  Englishized. 
May  she  have  tea  with  us  to-morrow?" 

"I  will  inquire  about  her  from  Miss  Flowers;  and 
if  she  seems  to  be  a  nice  girl  I  shall  have  no  objec- 
tion." 


STEPHANOTIE.  1 71 

"  But  we  want  her  to  come  to-morrow,"  said  Molly. 
"  It  is  Saturday,  you  know,  and  a  whole  holiday.  We 
thought  she  might  come  to  lunch,  or,  if  you  objected  to 
that,  immediately  after  lunch." 

"  And  what  about  Linda?     Does  Linda  like  her?  " 

"  Holy  Moses,  no !  "  said  Molly. 

"  Molly !  " 

"  Oh,  mother !  do  forgive  me,  and  don't  say  she 
mustn't  come  because  I  said  '  Holy  Moses.'  It's  all 
Linda ;  she  excites  the  vulgar  in  me  always.  But  may 
Stephie  come,  mother?  You  are  always  having  Linda's 
friends  here." 

"  I  will  not  be  reproved  by  you,  Molly." 

"  But,  please,  dear  mother,  let  her  come.  Nora  and  I 
want  her  so  badly." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  will  try  and  see  Miss  Flowers  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"  Won't  you  judge  of  her  for  yourself,  mother?  There 
never  was  a  better  judge  than  you  are." 

This  judicious  flattery  had  its  effect  on  Mrs.  Hartrick. 
She  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment,  pondering.  After  all, 
to  be  a  pupil  at  Mrs.  Flowers'  school  was  in  itself  a  cer- 
tificate of  respectability,  and  Molly  had  been  very  good 
lately — that  is,  for  her;  and  if  she  and  Nora  wanted  a 
special  friend  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  them,  it  would 
be  possible  for  Mrs.  Hartrick  quickly  to  decide  whether 
the  invitation  was  to  be  repeated. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  looking  at  her  daughter,  "  for 
this  once  you  may  have  her;  and  as  you  have  wisely  ex- 
pressed it,  Molly,  I  can  judge  for  myself." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  mother !  " 

Molly  rushed  out  of  the  room.  She  was  flying"  head- 
long down  the  passage,  when  she  came  plump  up  against 
Linda. 


I72  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORN  IMG. 

"  Now,  what  is  up?  "  said  that  young  person.  "  Really, 
Molly !  " 

"  Oh,  hurrah !  I  have  won  my  way  for  once/'  said 
Molly.  "  Stephanotie  is  coming  to-morrow  to  spend  the 
whole  afternoon." 

"  Stephanotie — that  horrid  Yankee  ?  "  said  Linda. 

"  Horrid  Yankee  yourself !  "  was  Molly's  vulgar  re- 
tort. 

"  But  she  cannot  come.  I  have  asked  Mabel  and  Rose 
Armitage,  and  you  know  they  cannot  stand  Stephanotie." 

"  Well,  you,  and  your  Mabel  and  Rose,  can  keep  away 
from  Stephanotie — that's  all,"  said  Molly.  "  Anyhow, 
she  is  coming.     Don't  keep  me.     I  must  tell  Nora." 

Linda  made  way  for  her  sister  to  fly  past  her,  as  she 
afterward  expressed  it,  like  a  whirlwind.  She  stood  still 
for  a  moment  in  deep  consideration.  Stephanotie  was  a 
daring,  bright,  go-ahead  young  person,  and  had  she  ever 
taken,  in  the  very  least,  to  Linda,  Linda  would  have  wor- 
shiped her.  Stephanotie  was  extremely  rich,  and  the 
bouquets  she  brought  to  school,  and  the  bon-bons  she 
kept  in  her  pocket,  and  the  pretty  trinkets  she  wore,  and 
the  dresses  she  exhibited  had  fascinated  Linda  more  than 
once.  For,  rich  as  the  Hartricks  were,  Mrs.  Hartrick  had 
far  too  good  taste  to  allow  her  daughters  more  pocket- 
money,  or  more  trinkets,  or  more  bon-bons  than  their 
companions.  Linda,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  had  greatly 
rebelled  against  her  mother's  rule  in  this  particular,  and 
had  envied  Stephanotie  what  she  called  her  free  life.  But 
Stephanotie  had  never  taken  to  Linda,  and  she  had  taken 
to  Molly,  and  still  more  had  she  taken  to  Xora ;  and,  in 
consequence,  Linda  pretended  to  hate  her,  and  whenever 
she  had  an  opportunity  used  to  run  her  down. 

Linda  and  her  friends.  Rose  and  Mabel  Armitage,  with 
several  other  girls,  formed  quite  a  clique  in  the  school 


S  TEPHA  NO  TIE.  1 7  3 

against  Stephanotie  and  what  she  termed  her  "  set  " ;  and 
now  to  think  that  this  very  objectionable  American  girl 
was  to  spend  the  next  day  at  The  Laurels  because  Molly, 
forsooth !  wished  it,  was  quite  intolerable. 

Linda  thought  for  a  moment,  then  went  into  the  room 
where  her  mother  was  busy  writing.  Mrs.  Hartrick  had 
just  finished  her  letter.  She  looked  up  when  Linda  ap- 
proached. 

"Well,  darling?"  she  said.  Mrs.  Hartrick  was  very 
fond  of  Linda,  and  petted  her  a  great  deal  more  than 
Molly. 

"  Oh,  mother !  I  am  vexed,"  said  Linda.  "  Is  it  quite 
settled  ?  " 

"  Is  what  settled,  my  dear?  " 

"  Is  it  quite  settled  that  Stephanotie  is  to  come  to-mor- 
row?" 

"  By  the  way,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  about  her,  Linda. 
What  sort  of  girl  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  against  my  schoolfel- 
lows, mother;  but  if  vou  could  only  see  her " 


Mrs.  Hartrick  raised  her  eyebrows  in  alarm. 

"  Molly  has  taken  so  violently  to  her,"  she  an- 
swered, "and  so  has  Nora;  and  I  thought  that  just  for 
once " 

"  So  you  have  given  leave,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  have." 

"  And  my  friends  are  coming — those  two  charming 
girls,  the  Armitages." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  greatly  admire  both  the  Armitage  girls. 
I  am  glad  they  are  coming ;  but  why  should  not  Miss  Mil- 
ler come  also  ?  " 

"  Only,  she  is  not  in  their  '  set,'  mother — that  is  all.  I 
wish — I  do  wish  you  would  ask  her  to  postpone  her  visit 
If  she  must  come,  let  her  come  another  Saturdav." 


174  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick.  "  I  have 
certainly  promised  and But  I  will  think  about  it." 

Linda  saw  that  she  could  not  press  her  mother  any  fur- 
ther.    She  went  away  in  great  disquietude. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?  "  she  thought.  "  If  only  mother 
would  speak  to  Molly  at  once ;  but  Molly  is  so  impetuous ; 
and  once  Stephanotie  is  asked,  there  will  be  no  getting 
out  of  it.  She  is  just  the  sort  of  girl  to  tell  that  unpleas- 
ant story  about  me,  too.  If  mother  knew  that,  why,  I 
should  at  last  be  in  her  black  books.  Well,  whatever  hap- 
pens, Stephanotie  must  not  be  asked  to  spend  the  after- 
noon here  to-morrow.  I  must  somehow  contrive  to  put 
some  obstacle  in  the  way." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE    ROSE-COLORED    DRESS. 

Meanwhile  Molly  rushed  off  to  Nora.  "  Linda 
means  mischief,  and  I  must  put  my  foot  down  immedi- 
ately," she  said. 

"Why,  Molly,  what  is  up?" 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  darling,  and  come  with  me  as  fast  as 
ever  you  can." 

"  Where  to?" 

"  Mother  has  given  in  about  Stephanotie.  Linda  will 
put  her  finger  in  the  pie  if  she  possibly  can.  I  mean 
Stephanotie  to  get  her  invitation  within  the  next  five 
minutes.     Now,  then,  come  along,  Nora.     Do  be  quick." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  never  allowed  the  girls  to  go  out  ex- 
cept very  neatly  dressed ;  but  on  this  occasion  they  were 
seen  tearing  down  the  road  with  their  garden  hats  on  and 
minus  their  gloves.  Had  anyone  from  The  Laurels  ob- 
served them,  good-by  to  Molly's  liberty  for  many  a  long 
day.  No  one  did,  however.  Linda  during  the  critical 
moment  was  closeted  with  her  mother.  When  she  reap- 
peared the  girls  were  halfway  to  the  village.  They 
reached  it  in  good  time,  and  arrived  at  the  house  of  Miss 
Truefitt,  Stephanotie's  aunt. 

Miss  Truefitt  was  an  old-fashioned  and  precise  little 
lady.  She  had  gone  through  a  great  deal  of  trouble  since 
the  arrival  of  her  niece,  and  often,  as  she  expressed  it, 
did  not  know  whether  she  stood  on  her  head  or  her  heels ; 
but  she  was  fond  of  Stephanotie,  who,  notwithstanding 
her  wild  ways,  was  very  affectionate  and  very  taking. 

275 


i76  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

And  now,  when  she  saw  Molly  and  Nora  appearing,  she 
herself  entered  the  hall  and  opened  the  door  for  them. 

"  Well,  my  dears, "  she  said,  "  Stephie  is  in  her  bed- 
room ;  she  has  a  headache,  and  wanted  to  lie  down  for  a 
little/' 

"  Oh,  just  let  me  run  up  to  her.  I  won't  keep  her  a 
minute,"  said  Molly. 

"  Come  in  here  with  me,"  said  Miss  Truefitt  to  Nora. 
She  opened  the  door  of  her  neat  little  parlor.  Nora  en- 
tered. The  room  was  full  of  gay  pictures  and  gay  books, 
and  scattered  here  and  there  were  very  large  boxes  of 
bon-bons. 

"  How  she  can  eat  them  all  is  what  puzzles  me,"  said 
Miss  Truefitt ;  "  she  seems  to  live  on  them.  The  quantity 
she  demolishes  would  wreck  the  health  of  any  English 
girl.     Ah,  here  comes  Molly." 

But  Molly  did  not  come  downstairs  alone ;  the  Ameri- 
can girl  was  with  her.     Stephanotie  rushed  into  the  room. 

"  I  am  going  to  The  Laurels  to-morrow,  auntie.  I  am 
going  quite  early ;  this  dear  old  Molly  has  asked  me.  You 
guess  I'll  have  a  good  time.  There  will  be  a  box  of  bon- 
bons for  Nora,  sweet  little  Irish  Nora ;  and  a  box  for  dear 
little  Molly,  a  true  native  of  England,  and  a  fine  speci- 
men to  boot.  Oh,  we  shall  have  a  nice  time;  and  I 
am  so  glad  I  am  asked !  " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Hartrick  to  send  you  an  invi- 
tation, Stephie,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  Oh,  bother  that,  Aunt  Violet !  Yon  know  perfectly 
well  she  would  not  ask  me  if  Molly  and  Nora  had  not  got 
it  out  of  her." 

"  Well,  we  did  try  our  best  and  most  conoodling  ways," 
said  Nora  in  a  soft  voice. 

"  Ah,  didn't  you,  you  little  Irish  witch  ;  and  I  guess  you 
won,  too.     Well,  I'm  going;  we'll  have  a  jolly  lark  with 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  DRESS.  17? 

Linda.  If  for  no  other  reason,  I  should  be  glad  to  go  ta 
upset  her  apple  cart." 

"  Dear  me,  Stephie !  you  are  very  coarse  and  vulgar," 
said  Miss  Truefitt. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  auntie.  Have  a  bon-bon,  do." 
Stephanotie  rushed  across  the  room,  opened  a  big  box  of 
bon-bons,  and  presented  one,  as  if  it  were  a  pistol,  full  in 
Miss  Truefitt's  face. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  my  dear !  "  said  that  lady,  back- 
ing; "the  indigestion  I  have  already  got  owing  to  the 
way  you  have  forced  your  bon-bons  upon  me  has  almost 
wrecked  my  health.  I  have  lost  all  appetite.  Dear  me, 
Stephie !  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  dreadfully  Ameri- 
can." 

"  The  process  of  Englishizing  me  is  a  slow  one,"  said 
Stephanotie.  She  turned,  walked  up  to  the  glass,  and 
surveyed  herself.  She  was  dressed  in  rich  brown  vel- 
veteen, made  to  fit  her  lissome  figure.  Her  hair  was  of 
an  almost  fiery  red,  and  surrounded  her  face  like  a  halo ; 
her  eyes  were  very  bright  china-blue,  and  she  had  a  daz- 
zlingly  fair  complexion.  There  were  people  who  thought 
Stephanotie  pretty ;  there  were  others  who  did  not  ad- 
mire her  at  all.  She  had  a  go-ahead,  very  independent 
manner,  and  was  the  sort  of  girl  who  would  be  idolized 
by  the  weaker  members  of  the  school.  Molly,  however, 
was  by  no  means  a  weak  member  of  the  school,  nor,  for 
that  matter,  was  Nora,  and  they  both  took  great  pleasure 
out  of  Stephanotie. 

"  My  bark  is  worse  than  my  bite,"  said  that  young  per- 
son. "  I  am  something  like  you,  Molly.  I  am  a  bit  of  a 
scorcher;  but  there,  when  I  am  trained  in  properly  I'll  be 
one  of  the  best  of  good  creatures." 

"  Well,  you  are  booked  for  to-morrow  now,"  said 
Molly ;  "  and  Jehoshaphat !  if  you  don't  come  in  time " 


178  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

"  Oh,  Molly !  "  whispered  Nora. 

"  There,  I  won't  say  it  again." 

Poor  Miss  Truefitt  looked  much  shocked.  Molly  and 
Nora  bade  her  good-by,  and  nodded  to  Stephanotie,  who 
stood  upon  the  doorstep  and  watched  them  down  the 
street ;  then  she  returned  to  her  aunt. 

"  I  did  think,"  said  Miss  Truefitt  slowly,  "  that  the 
girls  belonging  to  your  school  were  ladylike ;  but  to  come 
here  without  gloves,  and  that  eldest  girl,  Miss  Hartrick, 
to  use  such  a  shocking  expression." 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  Aunt  Vi !  it's  nothing  to  the  expres- 
sions she  uses  at  school.  She's  a  perfect  horror  of  a  girl, 
and  I  like  her  for  that  very  reason.  It  is  that  horrid 
little  Linda  would  please  you ;  and  I  must  say  I  am 
sorry  for  your  taste." 

Stephanotie  went  upstairs  to  arrange  her  wardrobe 
for  the  next  day.  She  had  long  wished  to  visit  Molly's 
home.  The  Laurels  was  one  of  the  prettiest  places  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  Molly  and  Linda  were  considered  as 
among  the  smartest  girls  at  the  school.  Stephanotie 
wished  to  be  hand-and-glove  with  Molly,  not  because  she 
was  supposed  to  be  rich,  or  respectable,  or  anything  else, 
but  simply  because  her  nature  fitted  to  that  of  the 
wild,  enthusiastic  American  girl.  But,  all  the  same, 
now  that  she  had  got  the  entree,  as  she  expressed  it, 
of  the  Hartricks'  home,  she  intended  to  make  a  sen- 
sation. 

"  When  I  do  the  thing  I  may  as  well  do  it  properly," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  will  make  them  open  their  eyes. 
I  have  watched  Mrs.  Hartrick  in  church  ;  and,  oh  dear  me ! 
have  not  I  longed  to  give  her  a  poke  in  the  back.  And  as 
to  Linda,  she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  her  dress.  She  does 
not  know  what  mine  will  be  when  I  take  out  my  very  best 
and  most  fascinating  gown." 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  DRESS.  179 

Accordingly  Stephanotie  rifled  her  trunk,  and  from  its 
depths  she  produced  a  robe  which  would,  as  she  said, 
make  the  members  of  The  Laurels  sit  up.  It  was  made 
of  rose-colored  silk,  and  trimmed  with  quantities  of 
cream  lace.  The  skirt  had  many  little  flounces  on  it,  and 
each  was  edged  with  lace.  The  bodice  was  cut  rather 
low  in  the  neck,  and  the  sleeves  did  not  come  down  any- 
thing like  as  far  as  the  wrists.  The  rose-colored  silk  with 
its  cream  lace  trimmings  was  altogether  the  sort  of  dress 
which  might  be  worn  in  the  evening;  but  daring  Steph- 
anotie intended  to  appear  in  it  in  the  morning.  She  would 
encircle  her  waist  with  a  cream-colored  sash,  very  broad, 
and  with  much  lace  upon  it ;  and  would  wear  many-col- 
ored beads  round  her  neck,  and  many  bracelets  on  her 
arms. 

"  The  whole  will  have  a  stylish  effect,  and  will  at  any 
rate  distinguish  me  from  everyone  else,"  was  her  inward 
comment.  She  shook  out  the  dress,  and  then  rang  the 
bell.     One  of  the  servants  appeared. 

"  I  want  to  have  this  robe  ironed  and  made  as  pre- 
sentable as  possible,"  said  Stephanotie ;  "  see  you  have 
it  all  done  and  put  in  my  wardrobe  ready  for  wear  to- 
night. I  guess  it  will  fetch  'em,"  she  added,  and  then 
she  rushed  like  a  whirlwind  into  the  presence  of  Miss 
Truefitt. 

"  Auntie,"  she  said,  "  would  you  like  to  see  me  done  up 
in  style?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Truefitt, 
looking  at  her  with  nervous  eyes. 

"  Oh,  dear,  Aunt  Vi !  if  you  were  to  see  mother  now  you 
wouldn't  know  her;  she  is  wonderfully  addicted  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  toilet.  There  is  nothing  so  fascinating 
as  the  pleasures  of  the  toilet  when  once  you  yield  to  its 
charms.     She  rigged  me  up  pretty  smart  before  I  left 


I  So  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

New  York,  and  I  am  going  to  wear  my  rose-colored  silk 
with  the  cream  lace  to-morrow." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  an  evening  party,  my  dear." 

"  Xo ;  but  I  shall  stay  all  the  evening,  and  I  know 
I'll  look  killing.  The  dress  suits  me  down  to  the  ground. 
It  is  one  of  my  fads  always  to  be  in  something  red;  it 
seems  to  harmonize  with  my  hair." 

Miss  Truefitt  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 

"What  are  you  sighing  for,  Aunt  Vi?" 

"  Nothing,  dear ;  only  please  don't  offer  me  a  bon-bon. 
The  mere  sight  of  those  boxes  gives  me  a  feeling  of 
nausea." 

"  But  you  have  not  tried  the  crystallized  figs,"  cried 
Stephanotie ;  "  they  are  wonderfully  good ;  and  if  you  feel 
nausea  a  peppermint-drop  will  set  you  right.  I  have  a 
kind  of  peppermint  chocolate  in  this  box  which  is  ex- 
tremely stimulating  to  the  digestive  organs." 

"  No,  no,  Stephie.  I  beg — I  really  do  beg  that  you 
will  take  all  the  obnoxious  boxes  out  of  the  room." 

"  Very  well,  auntie ;  but  you'll  come  up  to-morrow  to 
see  me  in  my  dress?  " 

The  next  day  was  Saturday,  a  holiday  of  course. 
Stephanotie  had  put  her  hair  into  Hinde's  curlers  the 
night  before,  and,  in  consequence,  it  was  a  perfect  mass 
of  frizzle  and  fluff  the  next  morning.  Miss  Truefitt,  who 
wore  her  own  neat  gray  locks  plainly  banded  round  her 
head,  gave  a  shudder  when  she  first  caught  sight  of 
Stephanotie. 

"  I  was  thinking,  dear,  during  the  night,"  she  said, 
"  of  your  pink  silk  dress,  and  I  should  very  much  prefer 
you  to  wear  the  gray  cashmere  trimmed  with  the  neat  vel- 
vet at  the  cuffs  and  collar.    It  would  tone  down  your " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  it,"  said  Stephanotie ;  "  my  hair  is  a  per- 
fect glory  this  morning.    Come  yourself  and  look  at  it — 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  DRESS.  l8l 

here;  stand  just  here;  the  sun  is  shining  full  on  me. 
Everyone  will  have  to  look  twice  at  me  with  a  head 
like  this." 

"  Indeed,  that  is  true,"  said  Miss  Truefitt ;  "  and  per- 
haps three  times ;  and  not  approve  of  you  then." 

"  Oh,  come,  auntie,  you  don't  know  how  bewitching  I 
look  when  I  am  got  up  in  all  my  finery." 

"  She  is  hopelessly  vulgar,"  thought  poor  Miss  True- 
fitt to  herself ;  "  and  I  always  supposed  Agnes  would 
have  such  a  nice,  proper  girl,  such  as  she  was  herself  in 
the  old  days;  but  that  last  photograph  of  Agnes  shows 
a  decided  falling  off.  How  truly  glad  I  am  that  I  was 
never  induced  to  marry  an  American !  I  would  rather 
have  my  neat,  precise  little  house,  and  a  small  income 
than  go  about  like  a  figure  of  fun?  That  poor  child  will 
never  be  made  English ;  it  is  a  hopeless  task.  The  sooner 
she  goes  back  to  America  the  better." 

Meanwhile  Stephanotie  wandered  about  the  house, 
thinking  over  and  over  of  the  happy  moment  when  she 
would  appear  at  The  Laurels.  She  thought  it  best  to 
put  on  her  rose-colored  dress  in  time  for  early  dinner. 
It  fitted  her  well,  but  was  scarcely  the  best  accompani- 
ment to  her  fiery-red  hair. 

"  Oh,  lor',  miss !  "  said  Maria,  the  servant,  when  she 
first  caught  sight  of  Stephanotie. 

"  You  may  well  say,  '  Oh,  lor' ! '  Maria,"  replied  Steph- 
anotie, "  although  it  is  not  a  very  pretty  expression.  But 
have  a  bon-bon ;  I  don't  mean  to  be  cross." 

She  whirled  across  the  room,  snatched  hold  of  one  of 
her  boxes  of  bon-bons,  and  presented  it  to  Maria.  Maria 
was  not  averse  to  a  chocolate  peppermint,  and  popped  one 
into  her  mouth.  The  next  instant  Miss  Truefitt  ap- 
peared. 

"  Now,  Stephanotie,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  for  a 


1 82  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

single  moment Oh,  my  dear  child,  you  really  are 

too  awful !  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  The 
Laurels  like  that?  " 

"  Have  a  bon-bon?  "  was  Stephanotie's  response. 

"  You  are  downright  rude.  I  will  not  allow  you  to 
offer  me  bon-bons  again." 

"  But  a  fresh  box  of  them  has  just  arrived.  I  got 
them  by  the  eleven  o'clock  post  to-day,"  was  Stephanotie's 
reckless  answer;  "  and,  oh,  such  beauties!  And  I  had 
a  letter  from  mother  to  say  that  I  might  order  as  many 
as  ever  I  liked  from  Fuller's.  I  mean  to  write  to  them 
to  ask  them  to  send  me  ten  shillings'  worth.  I'll  ask 
for  the  newest  varieties.  There  surely  must  be  bon-bons 
which  would  not  give  you  indigestion,  Aunt  Vi." 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  take  off  that  dress,  Stephanotie.  I 
forbid  you  to  go  to  The  Laurels  in  such  unsuitable  at- 
tire." 

"  Oh,  lor  ' !  and  it's  lovely !  "  said  Maria,  sotto  voce, 
as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 

"  What  an  unpleasant  smell  of  peppermint !  "  said  Miss 
Truefitt,  sniffing  at  that  moment.  "  You  know,  Steph- 
anotie, how  I  have  begged  of  you  not  to  eat  those  un- 
pleasant sweets  in  the  dining  room." 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Stephanotie ;  "  it  was  only  Maria." 

Maria  backed  out  of  the  room  with  another  violent 
u  Oh,  lor'  !  "  and  ran  down  to  the  kitchen. 

"  I'll  have  to  give  notice,"  she  said.  "  It's  Miss  Steph- 
anotie ;  she's  the  most  dazzlingly  brilliant  young  lady  I 
ever  set  eyes  on ;  but  mistress  will  never  forgive  me  for 
eating  that  peppermint  in  her  presence." 

"  Rinse  the  mouth  out,  and  take  no  notice,"  was  the 
cook's  somewhat  heartless  rejoinder.  "  How  do  you  say 
she  was  dressed,  Maria?  " 

"  Pink,  the  color  of  a  rose,  and  that  ravishing  with 


THE  ROSE-COLORED  DRESS.  1 83 

lace.  I  never  see'd  such  a  dress,"  said  Maria.  "  She's 
the  most  beautiful  young  lady  and  the  queerest  I  ever  set 
eyes  on." 

Stephanotie  and  her  aunt  were  having  a  battle  up- 
stairs, and  in  the  end  the  elder  lady  won.  Stephanotie 
was  obliged  to  take  off  the  unsuitable  dress  and  put  on 
the  gray  cashmere.  As  subsequent  events  proved,  it  was 
lucky  for  her  that  she  did  do  so. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

LETTERS. 

By  the  post  on  the  following  morning  there  came  two 
letters  for  Nora.     She  hailed  them  with  a  cry  of  delight. 

"  At  last !  "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  was  not  in  the  room  ;  she  had  a  headache, 
and  did  not  get  up  to  breakfast.  Terence  had  already 
started  for  town.  He  had  secured  the  post  he  desired 
in  his  uncle's  office,  and  thought  himself  a  very  great 
man  of  business.    Linda  did  not  count  for  anything. 

Nora  flung  herself  into  an  easy-chair,  and  opened  the 
first  of  her  letters.  It  was  from  her  mother.  She  was 
soon  lost  in  its  contents. 

"  My  Dear  Nora  [wrote  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan]  :  Be 
prepared  for  very  great,  startling,  and  at  the 
same  time  gratifying,  news.  Your  dear  Uncle 
George,  who  has  been  spending  the  last  three  weeks  with 
us,  has  made  an  arrangement  which  lifts  us,  my  dear 
daughter,  out  of  all  pecuniary  embarrassments.  I  will  tell 
you  as  briefly  as  possible  what  has  taken  place.  He  had 
a  consultation  with  your  father,  and  induced  him,  at  my 
suggestion,  to  unburden  his  mind  to  him.  You  know 
the  Squire's  ways.  He  pooh-poohed  the  subject  and 
fought  shy  of  it ;  but  at  last  I  myself  brought  him  to  task, 
and  the  whole  terrible  and  disgraceful  state  of  things  was 
revealed.  My  dear  Xnra,  my  dear  little  girl,  we  were, 
it  appears,  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy.  In  a  couple  of 
months  O'Shanaghgan  would  no  longer  have  been  ours. 

i84 


LETTERS.  185 

I  cannot  say  that  I  should  ever  have  regretted  leaving 
this  ramshackle  and  much-dilapidated  place,  but  of  course 
I  should  have  shrunk  from  the  disgrace,  the  exposure, 
the  feeling  that  I  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  That, 
indeed,  would  have  cut  me  to  the  quick.  Had  your  father 
consented  to  sell  O'Shanaghgan  and  live  in  England,  it 
would  have  been  a  moment  of  great  rejoicing  for  me;  but 
the  place  to  be  sold  up  over  his  head  was  quite  a  different 
matter.  This,  my  dear  Nora,  seems  to  have  been  the  po- 
sition of  affairs  when  your  dear  uncle,  like  a  good  provi- 
dence or  a  guardian  angel,  appeared  on  the  scene.  Your 
uncle,  my  dearest  Nora,  is  a  very  rich  man.  My  dear 
brother  has  been  careful  with  regard  to  money  matters 
all  his  life,  and  is  now  in  possession  of  a  very  large  supply 
of  this  world's  goods.  Your  dear  uncle  was  good  enough 
to  come  to  the  rescue,  and  has  bought  O'Shanaghgan  from 
the  man  to  whom  your  father  owed  the  mortgage. 
O'Shanaghgan  now  belongs  to  your  Uncle  George." 

"  Never !  "  cried  Nora,  springing  to  her  feet. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Nora  ?  "  said  Linda. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  for  the  present,  or  I'll  say  some- 
thing you  won't  like  to  hear,"  replied  Nora. 

"  Really,  I  must  say  you  are  copying  Molly  in  your 
manner." 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,"  said  Nora.  Her  face  was  crim- 
son; she  had  never  felt  such  a  wild,  surging  sense  of 
passion  in  the  whole  of  her  existence.  Linda's  calm  gray 
eyes  were  upon  her,  however.  She  managed  to  suppress 
any  more  emotion,  saw -that  her  cousin  was  burning  with 
curiosity,  and  continued  the  letter. 

"  Although,  my  dearest  Nora,  Castle  O'Shanaghgan 
now  belongs  to  your  Uncle  George,  don't  suppose  for  a 


1 86  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

single  moment  that  he  is  going  to  be  unkind  to  us.  Far 
from  it.  To  all  appearance  the  place  is  still  ours;  but 
with,  oh !  such  a  difference.  Your  father  is  still,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  tenants  and  of  the  country  round,  the  owner 
of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan ;  but,  after  consulting  with  me, 
your  Uncle  George  felt  that  he  must  not  have  the  reins. 

His  Irish  nature,  my  dear But  I  need  not  discuss 

that.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  how  reckless  and  improvi- 
dent he  is." 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  gasped  Nora.  She  clenched  her  little 
white  teeth,  and  had  great  difficulty  in  proceeding  with 
her  letter.  Linda's  curiosity,  however,  acted  as  a  restora- 
tive, and  she  went  on  with  her  mother's  lengthy  epistle. 

"  All  things  are  now  changed,  and  I  may  as  well  say 
that  a  glorious  era  has  begun.  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  is 
now  your  uncle's  property,  and  it  will  soon  be  a  place  to 
be  proud  of.  He  is  having  it  refurnished  from  attic  to 
cellar ;  carpets,  curtains,  mirrors,  furniture  of  all  sorts 
have  already  begun  to  arrive  from  one  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable shops  in  Dublin.  Gardeners  have  been  got  to  put 
the  gardens  to  rights,  the  weeds  have  been  removed  from 
the  avenue,  the  grass  has  been  cut,  the  lawns  have  been 
mown ;  the  whole  place  looks  already  as  if  it  had  under- 
gone a  resurrection.  My  bedroom,  dear  Nora,  is  now  a 
place  suitable  for  your  mother  to  sleep  in ;  the  bare  boards 
are  covered  with  a  thick  Brussels  carpet.  The  Axminster 
stair  carpets  arrived  yesterday.  In  the  dining  room  is  one 
of  the  most  magnificent  Turkey  carpets  I  have  ever  seen ; 
and  your  uncle  has  insisted  on  having  the  edge  of  the  floor 
laid  with  parquetry.  Will  you  believe  me,  Nora? — your 
father  has  objected  to  the  sound  of  the  hammering  which 
the  workmen  make  in  putting  in  the  different  pieces  of 


LETTERS.  187 

wood.    You  can  scarcely  believe  it  possible;  but  I  state 
a  fact.    The  stables  are  being  filled  with  suitable  horses ; 
and  with  regard  to  that  I  am  glad  to  say  your  father 
does  take  some  interest.     A  victoria  has  arrived  for  me, 
and  a  pony-trap  for  you,  dear;  for  it  seems  your  Uncle 
George  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  my  little  Nora. 
Well,  dear,  all  this  resurrection,  this  wonderful  restora- 
tion of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  has  occurred  during  your 
absence.    You  will  come  back  to  a  sort  of  fairyland ;  but 
it  is  one  of  your  uncle's  stipulations  that  you  do  not  come 
back  at  present ;  and,  of  course,  for  such  a  fairy  godfather, 
such  a  magician,  no  promise  is  too  great  to  give.     So  I 
have  told  him,  dear  Nora,  that  you  will  live  with  your 
kind  and  noble  Aunt  Grace,  and   with  your  charming 
cousin  Linda,  and  your  cousin  Molly — about  whom  I  do 
not  hear  so  much — as  long  as  he  wishes  you  to  do  so. 
You  will  receive  the  best  of  educations,  and  come  back  at 
Christmas  to  a  suitable  home.     You  must  have  patience 
until  then.    It  is  your  uncle's  proposal  that  at  Christmas- 
time you  and  your  cousins  also  come  to  O'Shanaghgan, 
and  that  we  shall  have  a  right  good  old-fashioned  Christ- 
mas in  this  place,  which  at  last  is  beautiful  and  worthy 
of  your  ancient  house.    You  must  submit  patiently,  there- 
fore, dear  Nora,  to  remaining  in  England.  You  will  prob- 
ably spend  the  greater  portion  of  your  time  there  for  the 
next  few  years,  until  you  are  really  accomplished.     But 
the  holidays  you,  with  your  dear  cousins  and  your  uncle 
and  aunt,  will  always  spend  at  O'Shanaghgan.    You  must 
understand,  dear,  that  the  house  really  belongs  to  your 
uncle;  the  place  is  his,  and  we  are  simply  his  tenants, 
from  whom  he  nobly  asks  no  rent.    How  proud  I  am  of 
my   dear  brother,   and   how   I   rejoice   in   this   glorious 
change! — Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  Ellen  O'Shanaghgan." 


1 88  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

The  letter  dropped  from  Nora's  fingers. 

"  And  was  it  I  who  effected  all  this?  "  she  said  to  her- 
self.    "  And  I  thought  I  was  doing  good." 

The  other  letter  lay  unopened  on  her  lap.  She  took 
it  up  with  trembling  hands,  and  broke  the  seal.  It  was 
a  short  letter  compared  to  her  mother's,  but  it  was  in 
the  handwriting  she  loved  best  on  earth. 

"  Light  o'  the  Morning  [it  began]  :  Why,  then,  my 
darling,  it's  done — it  is  all  over.  The  place  is  mine  no 
longer;  it  belongs  to  the  English.  To  think  I,  O'Shan- 
aghgan  of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan,  should  live  to  write  the 
words.  Your  mother  put  it  to  me,  and  I  could  not  refuse 
her;  but,  oh,  Nora  asthore,  heart  of  my  life,  I  can  scarcely 
bear  to  live  here  now.  What  with  the  carpets  and  the 
curtains,  and  the  fuss  and  the  misery,  and  the  whole 
place  being  turned  into  a  sort  of  furniture-shop,  it  is  past 
bearing.  I  keep  out  most  of  my  time  in  the  woods,  and 
I  won't  deny  to  you,  my  dearest  child,  that  I  have  shed 
some  bitter  tears  over  the  change  in  O'Shanaghgan ;  for 
the  place  isn't  what  it  was,  and  it's  heart-breaking  to  be- 
hold it.  But  your  mother  is  pleased,  and  that's  one  com- 
fort. I  always  did  all  I  could  for  her;  and  when  she 
smiles  at  me  and  looks  like  the  sun — she  is  a  remarkably 
handsome  woman,  Nora — I  try  to  take  a  bit  of  comfort. 
But  I  stumble  over  the  carpets  and  the  mats,  and  your 
mother  is  always  saying,  '  Patrick,  take  care  where  you 
are  going,  and  don't  let  the  dogs  come  in  to  spoil  the  new 
carpets.'  And  the  English  servants  that  we  have  now 
taken  are  past  bearing;  and  it's  just  as  if  I  were  in  chains, 
and  I  would  almost  as  lief  the  place  had  been  sold  right 
away  from  me  as  see  it  in  its  changed  condition.  I  can 
add  no  more  now,  my  child,  except  to  say  that,  as  I  am 
under  great  and  bitter  obligations  to  your  Uncle  George, 


LETTERS.  189 

I  must  agree  to  his  request  that  you  stay  in  England  for 
the  present;  but  Christmas  is  coming,  and  then  I'll  clasp 
you  in  my  arms,  and  I'll  have  a  grain  of  comfort  again. 
— Your  sorrowful  old  father, 

"  Patrick  O'Shanaghgan." 

Nora's  cheeks  flushed  brighter  than  ever  as  she  read 
these  two  letters.  The  first  had  cut  her  to  the  heart ;  the 
second  had  caused  that  desire  for  weeping  which  unless 
it  is  yielded  to  amounts  to  torture. 

Oh!  if  Linda  would  not  stay  in  the  room.  Oh!  if  she 
might  crouch  away  where  she,  too,  could  shed  tears  over 
the  changed  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  For  what  did  she  and 
her  father  want  with  a  furniture-shop?  Must  she,  for 
all  the  rest  of  her  days,  live  in  a  sort  of  feather-bed  house  ? 
Must  the  bareness,  the  space,  the  sense  of  expansion,  be 
hers  no  more?  She  was  half  a  savage,  and  her  silken 
fetters  were  tortures  to  her. 

"  It  will  kill  him,"  she  murmured.  She  said  the  words 
aloud. 

"  What  will  kill  him  ?  What  is  wrong  ?  Do,  please, 
tell  me,"  said  Linda. 

Nora  looked  at  her  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  How  bright  your  cheeks  are,  Nora,  and  how  your 
eyes  shine!  But  you  look  very,  very  angry.  What  can 
be  the  matter?  " 

"  Matter  ?  There  is  plenty  the  matter.  I  cannot  tell 
you  now,"  said  Nora. 

"  Then  I'll  go  up  and  ask  mother ;  perhaps  she  will 
tell  me.  It  has  something  to  do  with  that  old  place  of 
yours,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt.  Mother  has  got  a 
very  long  letter  from  Ireland ;  she  will  tell  me  perhaps.*' 

"  Yes,  go ;  and  don't  come  back  again,"  said  Nora,  al- 
most rudely. 


190  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

"  She  gets  worse  and  worse/'  thought  Linda  as  she 
slowly  mounted  the  stairs.  "  Nora  is  anything  but  a 
pleasure  in  the  house.  At  first  when  she  came  she  was 
not  quite  so  bad ;  she  had  a  pretty  face,  and  her  manners 
had  not  been  coarsened  from  contamination  with  Molly. 
Now  she  is  much  changed.  Yes,  I'll  go  to  mother  and 
talk  to  her.  What  an  awful  afternoon  we  are  likely  to 
have  with  that  American  girl  here  and  Nora  changing  for 
the  worse  hour  by  hour." 

Linda  knocked  at  her  mother's  door.  Mrs.  Hartrick 
was  not  well,  and  was  sitting  up  in  bed  reading  her 
letters. 

"  My  head  is  better,  Linda,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  get  up 
presently.    What  is  it,  darling?" 

"  It  is  only  the  usual  thing,"  said  Linda,  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "  I  am  always  being  rubbed  the  wrong  way,  and 
I  don't  like  it." 

"  So  it  seems,  my  pet.  But  how  nicely  you  have  done 
your  hair  this  morning!  How  very  neat  and  ladylike 
you  are  becoming,  Linda!  You  are  a  great  comfort  to 
me,  dear." 

"  Thank  you,  mother ;  I  try  to  please  you,"  said  Linda. 
She  seated  herself  on  her  mother's  bed,  suppressed  a 
sigh,  then  said  eagerly : 

"  Nora  is  awfully  put  out.  Is  there  bad  news  from 
that  wild  place,  Castle  O'Shanaghgan?  " 

"  Bad  news?"  cried  Mrs.  Hartrick.  "  Has  the  child 
had  letters  ?  " 

"  Yes,  two ;  she  had  been  reading  them  instead  of  eat- 
ing her  breakfast,  and  the  sighs  and  the  groans,  and  the 
flashing  eyes  and  the  clenched  teeth,  and  the  jumping  to 
her  feet  and  the  flopping  herself  down  again  have  been 
past  bearing.  She  won't  let  out  anything  except  that  she 
is  downright  miserable,  and  that  it  is  a  burning  shame. 


LETTERS.  191 

What  can  she  mean,  mother?    Is  the  old  place  sold?    I 
always  expected  they  were  terribly  poor." 

"  The  best,  most  splendid  news,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 
"  My  dear  Linda,  you  must  be  mistaken.  Your  father 
says  that  he  has  given  your  aunt  and  uncle  leave  to  tell 
Nora  everything.  I  thought  the  child  would  be  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  bliss ;  in  fact,  I  was  almost  dreading 
her  arrival  on  the  scene,  she  is  so  impetuous." 

"  Well,  mother,  she  is  not  in  any  seventh  heaven  of 
bliss,"  replied  Linda ;  "  so  perhaps  they  have  not  told  her. 
But  what  is  it,  mother  dear?    Do  tell  me." 

"  It  is  this,  darling — your  father  has  bought  Castle 
O'Shanaghgan." 

"  Oh  !  and  given  it  to  the  O'Shanaghgans.  Why  did  he 
do  that?" 

"  He  has  bought  it,  but  he  has  not  given  it  to  the 
O'Shanaghgans.  Some  day,  if  Terence  turns  out 
worthy,  the  old  place  will  doubtless  be  his,  as  we  have  no 
son  of  our  own ;  but  at  present  it  is  your  father's  prop- 
erty ;  he  has  bought  it." 

"  Then  no  wonder  poor  Nora  is  sad,"  said  Linda.  "  I 
can  understand  her ;  she  is  fond  of  the  old  place." 

"  But  why  should  she  be  sad  ?  They  are  not  going ; 
they  are  to  stay  there,  practically  owners  of  all  they  pos- 
sess; for,  although  the  property  is  really  your  father's, 
he  will  only  exercise  sufficient  control  to  prevent  that 
poor,  wild,  eccentric  uncle  of  yours  from  throwing  good 
money  after  bad.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  the 
O'Shanaghgans  still  hold  possession ;  only  now,  my  dear 
Linda,  they  will  have  a  beautiful  house,  magnificently 
furnished.  The  grounds  are  carefully  attended  to,  good 
gardeners  provided,  English  servants  sent  for,  and  the 
whole  place  made  suitable  for  your  father's  sister." 

"  But  does  Nora  know  of  this?" 


192  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  know  your  father  said  she  was  to  be 
told." 

"  She  is  very  miserable  about  something.  I  cannot 
understand  her,"  said  Linda.  "  I  tell  you  what,  I'll  just 
go  down  and  tell  her.  Perhaps  those  two  letters  were 
nothing  but  grumbles;  and  the  O'Shanaghgans  did 
not  know  then  the  happiness  that  was  in  store  for 
them." 

"  You  can  tell  her  if  you  like,  dear." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  said  Linda.  She  jumped  off  her 
mother's  bed  and  ran  downstairs. 

Xora  was  standing  in  the  conservatory.  She  was 
gazing  straight  before  her,  not  at  the  great,  tall,  flower- 
ing cactus  nor  the  orchids,  nor  the  mass  of  geraniums 
and  pelargoniums  of  every  shade  and  hue — she  was  see- 
ing a  picture  of  a  wild,  wild  lonely  place,  of  a  bare  old 
house,  of  a  seashore  that  was  like  no  other  seashore  in  the 
world.  She  was  looking  at  this  picture  with  all  the  heart 
of  which  she  was  capable  shining  in  her  eyes;  and  she 
knew  that  she  was  looking  at  it  in  imagination  only,  and 
that  she  would  never  see  the  real  picture  again,  for  the 
wild  old  place  was  wild  no  longer,  and  in  Nora's  opinion 
the  glory  had  departed  She  turned  when  Linda's  some- 
what mincing  voice  fell  upon  her  ears. 

"  How  you  startled  me!"  she  said.    "  What  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  good  news,"  said  Linda.  "  I  am  not  quite  so  bad 
as  you  think  me,  Nora,  and  I  am  delighted.  Mother  has 
told  me  everything.  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  is  yours  to 
live  in  as  long  as  ever  you  care  to  do  so.  Of  course  it 
belongs  to  us ;  but  that  does  not  matter,  and  it  is  furnished 
from  attic  to  cellar  most  splendidly,  and  there  are  Eng- 
lish servants,    and  there  are " 

"Everything  abominable  and  odious  and  horrible!" 
burst  from  Nora's  lips.    "  Oh,  don't  keep  me ;  don't  keep 


LETTERS.  193 

me !  I  am  smothered  at  the  thought — O'Shanaghgan  is 
ruined — ruined !" 

She  ran  away  from  her  cousin  out  into  the  air.  At 
headlong  speed  did  she  go,  until  at  last  she  found  herself 
in  the  most  remote  and  least  cultivated  part  of  the  plan- 
tation. 

Oh,  to  be  alone !  Now  she  could  cry,  and  cry  she  did 
right  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   BOX   OF  BON-BONS. 

It  occurred  to  Stephanotie  that,  as  she  could  not  wear 
the  rose-colored  dress,  as  she  must  go  perforce  to  the 
Hartricks'  in  her  dove-colored  cashmere,  with  its  very- 
neat  velvet  collar  and  cuffs,  she  would  at  least  make  her 
entrance  a  little  striking. 

"  Why  not  take  a  box  of  bon-bons  to  Mrs.  Hartrick?  " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  There's  that  great  big  new  box 
which  I  have  not  opened  yet.  It  contains  dozens  of  every 
kind  of  sweetmeat.  I'll  present  it  to  her;  she'll  be  pleased 
with  the  attention." 

The  box  was  a  very  large  one ;  on  its  lid  was  painted  a 
picture  of  two  or  three  cupids  hovering  in  the  air,  some 
of  them  touching  the  shoulders  of  a  pretty  girl  who  was 
supposed  to  be  opening  a  box  of  chocolates.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  color  and  embossed  writing  also  on  the 
cover,  and  altogether  it  was  as  showy  and,  in  Stephanotie's 
opinion,  as  handsome  a  thing  as  anybody  could  desire. 

She  walked  through  the  village,  holding  the  box,  tied 
with  great  bunches  of  red  ribbon,  in  her  hand.  She 
scorned  to  put  a  brown-paper  cover  over  it;  she  would 
take  it  in  all  its  naked  glory  into  the  midst  of  the  Hart- 
rick household. 

On  her  way  she  met  the  other  two  girls  who  were  also 
going  to  spend  an  afternoon  at  The  Laurels.  Rose  and 
Mabel  Armitage  were  the  daughters  of  a  neighbouring 
squire.     They  were  nice  girls,  but  conventional. 

There  was  nothing  original  about  either  of  them;  but 


THE  BOX  OF  BON-BONS.  1 95 

they  were  very  much  respected  in  the  school,  not  only  on 
account  of  their  father's  position — he  represented  the 
county  in  the  House — but  also  because  they  were  good, 
industrious,  and  so-called  clever.  The  Armitages  took 
prizes  at  every  examination.  Their  French  was  con- 
sidered very  nearly  Parisian  in  accent ;  their  drawings 
were  all  in  absolutely  perfect  proportions.  It  is  true  the 
trees  in  Rose's  landscapes  looked  a  little  stiff;  but  how 
carefully  she  laid  on  her  water-colors ;  how  honestly  she 
endeavored  to  copy  her  master's  smallest  requirements ! 
Then  Mabel  played  with  great  correctness,  never  for  a 
single  moment  allowing  a  wrong  note  to  appear ;  and  they 
both  sang,  very  prettily,  simple  little  ballads;  and  they 
were  dressed  with  exquisite  neatness  and  propriety  in 
very  quiet  colors — dark  blues,  very  dark  reds,  pretty, 
neat  blouses,  suitable  skirts.  Their  hair  was  shiny,  and 
sat  in  little  tight  tendrils  and  pretty  curls  round  their 
heads.  They  were  as  like  as  two  peas — each  girl  had  a 
prim  little  mouth  with  rosy  lips ;  each  girl  possessed  an 
immaculate  set  of  white  teeth ;  each  girl  had  a  little, 
straight  nose  and  pretty,  clear  gray-blue  eyes ;  their  fore- 
heads were  low,  their  eyebrows  penciled  and  delicately 
marked.  They  had  neat  little  figures ;  they  were  neat  in 
every  way,  neat  in  soul  too ;  admirable  little  people,  but 
commonplace.  And,  just  because  they  were  common- 
place, they  did  not  like  fiery-red-haired  Stephanotie ;  they 
thought  Molly  the  essence  of  vulgarity ;  they  secretly  ad- 
mired beautiful  Nora,  but  thought  her  manners  and  style 
of  conversation  deplorable;  and  they  adored  Linda  as  a 
kindred  spirit. 

Seeing  them  walking  on  in  advance,  like  a  little  pair 
of  doves,  Stephanotie  quickened  her  steps  until  she  came 
up  to  them. 

"  Hallo !  "  she  said ;  "  you  guess  where  I'm  off  to?  " 


I96  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  say,"  answered  Rose,  turning 
gently  round. 

Mabel  was  always  Rose's  echo. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  she  repeated. 

"  Well,  I  can  guess  where  you're  going.  You're  going 
to  have  a  right  down  good  time  at  The  Laurels — guess 
I'm  right?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  spend  an  afternoon  at  The  Laurels," 
said  Rose. 

"  An  afternoon  at  The  Laurels,"  echoed  Mabel. 

"  And  so  am  I — that's  the  best  of  the  fun,"  said 
Stephanotie ;  "  and  I  mean  to  give  her  something  to  re- 
member me  by." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  Why,  my  good,  respected  hostess,  Mrs.  Hartrick." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  give  her  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  This.    How  do  you  like  it?    It's  full  of  bon-bons." 

Rose,  notwithstanding  her  virtuous  and  commonplace 
mind,  had  a  secret  leaning  toward  bon-bons.  She  did  not 
dare  to  confess  it  even  to  Mabel ;  for  Mabel  also  had  a 
secret  leaning,  and  did  not  dare  to  confess  it  to  Rose.  It 
was  not  comnic  il  faut  in  their  family  for  the  girls  of 
the  house  to  indulge  in  bon-bons ;  but  still,  they  would 
have  liked  some  of  those  delicious  sweets,  and  had  often 
envied  Stephanotie  when  she  was  showing  them  to  her 
companions. 

Of  course,  not  for  worlds  would  they  have  been 
friendly  with  the  terrible  American  girl ;  but  they  did 
envy  her  her  boxes  of  sweets. 

"  How  gay !  "  said  Rose,  looking  at  the  startling  cover, 
with  its  cupids  and  its  greedy-looking  maiden. 

"  How  jolly,"  said  the  American  girl — "  how  luscious 
when  you're  eating  them!  Would  you  like  to  see  them 
inside?  " 


THE  BOX  OF  BON-BONS.  197 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,"  said  Rose. 

"  Better  not,"  said  Mabel. 

"  But  why  better  not?  "  continued  Stephanotie.  "  It's 
natural  that  girls  like  us  should  like  sweetmeats,  bon- 
bons, or  anything  of  that  sort.  Here,  there's  a  nice  little 
bit  of  shelter  under  this  tree,  and  there's  no  one  looking. 
I'll  untie  the  ribbons;  just  hold  the  box,  Rose." 

Rose  held  it.  Stephanotie  hastily  pulled  off  the  red 
ribbons  and  lifted  the  cover.  Oh,  how  delicious  the  in- 
side did  look! — rows  upon  rows  of  every  imaginable 
sweet — cream-colored  sweets,  rose-colored,  green,  white; 
plums,  apples,  pears,  figs,  chocolates ;  every  sort  that  the 
heart  of  girl  could  desire  lay  before  them  in  rows  on 
rows. 

"  They  are,  every  one  of  them,  for  Mrs.  Hartrick,"  said 
Stephanotie,  "  and  you  mustn't  touch  them.  But  I  have 
got  two  boxes  in  my  pocket ;  they  make  it  bulge  out ;  I 
should  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  them.  We'll  tie  this  up,  but 
you'll  each  have  one  of  my  boxes." 

In  a  jiffy  the  big  box  was  tied  up  again  with  its  huge 
crimson  bows,  and  each  of  the  Armitage  girls  possessed 
one  of  the  American  girl's  boxes  of  bon-bons. 

"  Aren't  they  pretty  ?  Do  have  some ;  you  don't  know 
how  long  you  may  be  kept  waiting  for  your  tea,"  said 
Stephanotie  as  she  danced  beside  her  companions  up  the 
avenue. 

In  this  fashion,  therefore,  did  the  three  enter  the  house, 
for  both  of  the  Armitages  had  yielded  to  temptation,  and 
each  girl  was  just  finishing  a  large  bon-bon  when  they 
appeared  on  the  scene. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  was  standing  in  the  great  square  central 
hall,  waiting  for  her  guests. 

Stephanotie  ran  up  to  her. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  indeed  to  ask  me,"  she  said ; 


198  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  and  please  accept  this — won't  you  ?  It's  from  an  Amer- 
ican girl,  a  trophy  to  remember  her  by." 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick,  flushing  very  brightly. 
She  stepped  back  a  little;  the  huge  box  of  bon-bons  was 
forced  into  her  hands. 

"  Jehoshaphat !  "  exclaimed  Molly. 

"  Molly !  "  said  her  mother. 

Linda  uttered  a  little  sigh.  Rose  and  Mabel  immedi- 
ately became  as  discreet  and  commonplace  and  proper  as 
they  could  be ;  but  Stephanotie  knew  that  the  boxes  of 
bon-bons  were  reposing  in  each  of  their  pockets  and  her 
spirits  rose  higher  than  ever. 

"Where  is  Irish  Nora?"  she  said.  "It's  she  that  is 
fond  of  a  good  sweet  such  as  they  make  for  us  in  the 
States.  But  have  the  box — won't  you,  Mrs.  Hartrick? 
I  have  brought  it  to  you  as  a  token  of  my  regard." 

"  Indeed  ?  Thank  you  very  much,  Miss  Miller,"  said 
Mrs.  Hartrick  in  a  chilly  voice.  She  laid  the  box  on  a 
side-table. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE    TELEGRAM. 

The  girls  went  out  into  the  grounds.  The  afternoon 
happened  to  be  a  perfect  one;  the  air  was  balmy,  with  a 
touch  of  the  Indian  summer  about  it.  The  last  roses 
were  blooming  on  their  respective  bushes ;  the  geraniums 
were  making  a  good  show  in  the  carefully  laid  out  beds. 
There  were  clumps  of  asters  and  dahlias  to  be  seen  in 
every  direction ;  some  late  poppies  and  some  sweet-peas 
and  mignonette  made  the  borders  still  look  very  attract- 
ive, and  the  chrysanthemums  were  beginning  to  appear. 

"  In  a  week's  time  they  will  be  splendid,"  said  Linda, 
piloting  her  two  friends  through  the  largest  of  the  green- 
houses. 

"  Do  come  away,"  said  Molly ;  "  when  Linda  speaks  in 
that  prim  voice  she's  intolerable.  Come,  Nora ;  come, 
Stephie — we'll  just  have  a  run  by  ourselves." 

Noil  was  still  looking  rather  pale.  The  shock  of  the 
morning  had  caused  the  color  to  fade  from  her  cheeks ; 
she  could  not  get  the  utterly  changed  O'Shanaghgan  out 
of  her  head.  She  longed  to  write  to  her  father,  and  yet 
she  did  not  dare. 

Stephanotie  looked  at  her  with  the  curious,  keen  glance 
which  an  American  girl  possesses. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Do  say,"  she  said,  linking  her  hand  in- 
side Nora's.  "  Is  it  anything  that  a  bon-bon  will  soothe, 
or  is  it  past  that?  " 

"  It  is  quite  past  that ;  but  don't  ask  me  now,  Stephie. 
I  cannot  tell  you,  really." 


aoo  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNIXG. 

"  Don't  bother  her,"  said  Molly ;  "  she  has  partly  con- 
fided in  me,  but  not  wholly.  We'll  have  a  good  time  by 
ourselves.  What  game  do  you  think  we  had  best  play, 
Stephie?" 

"  I'm  not  one  for  games  at  all,''  answered  Stephanotie. 
"  Girls  of  my  age  don't  play  games.  They  are  thinking  se- 
riously of  the  business  of  life — the  flirtations  and  the 
jolly  time  they  are  going  to  have  before  they  settle  down 
to  their  staid  married  life.  You  English  are  so  very 
childish." 

"  And  we  Irish  are  childish  too,"  said  Nora.  "  It's 
lovely  to  be  childish,"  she  added.  "  I  hate  to  put  away 
childish  things." 

"  Oh,  dear !  so  that  is  the  Irish  and  English  way,"  said 
Stephanotie.  "  But  there,  don't  let  us  talk  nationalities ; 
let's  be  cozy  and  cheerful.  I  can  tell  you  I  did  feel  an- 
noyed at  coming  here  such  a  dowd ;  it  was  not  my  fault. 
I  meant  to  make  an  impression ;  I  did,  really  and  truly. 
It  was  very  good  of  you,  Molly,  to  ask  me ;  and  I  know 
that  proud  lady,  your  mother,  didn't  want  to  have  me  a 
bit.  I  am  nothing  but  Stephanotie  Miller,  and  she  doesn't 
know  the  style  we  live  in  at  home.  If  she  did,  maybe  she 
would  open  her  eyes  a  little;  but  she  doesn't,  and  that's 
flat ;  and  I  am  vulgar,  or  supposed  to  be,  just  because  I  am 
frank  and  open,  and  I  have  no  concealment  about  me.  I 
call  a  spade  a  spade." 

"  Oh,  hurrah !  so  do  I,"  said  Molly,  the  irrepressible. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  don't  use  your  words ;  they  wouldn't 
suit  me  at  all,"  said  the  American  girl.  "  I  never  call  out 
Jehoshaphat  the  way  you  do,  whoever  Jehoshaphat  is; 
but  I  have  my  little  eccentricities,  and  they  run  to  pretty 
and  gay  dresses — dresses  with  bright  colors  and  quan- 
tities of  lace  on  them — and  bon-bons  at  all  hours,  in  sea- 
son and  out  of  season.    It's  easv  to  content  me,  and  I  don't 


THE    TELEGRAM.  201 

see  why  my  little  innocent  wishes  should  not  be 
gratified." 

"  But  you  are  very  nicely  dressed  now,"  said  Nora, 
looking  with  approval  at  the  gray  cashmere. 

"  Me  nicely  dressed !  "  screamed  Stephanotie.  "  Do 
you  call  this  dress  nice  ?  Why,  I  do  declare  it's  a  perfect 
shame  that  I  should  be  made  such  a  spectacle.  It  don't 
suit  my  hair.  When  I  am  ordering  a  dress  I  choose 
shades  of  red ;  they  tone  me  down.  I  am  fiery  to-day — am 
I  not,  Molly?" 

"  Well,  you  certainly  are,"  said  Molly.  "  But  what 
— what  did  you  do  to  it  ?  " 

"  To  my  locks,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  They  do  stick  out  so  funnily.  I  know  mother 
was  shocked ;  she  likes  our  heads  to  be  perfectly  smooth." 

"  Like  the  Armitages',  for  instance,"  said  Stephanotie. 

"  Well,  yes ;  something  like  theirs.  They  are  pretty 
girls,  are  they  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Stephanotie ;  "  but  don't  they  give  you  the 
quivers  ?  Don't  you  feel  as  if  you  were  rubbed  the  wrong 
way  the  moment  you  speak  to  them?" 

"  I  don't  take  to  them,"  said  Molly ;  "  but  I  think  they're 
pretty." 

"  They're  just  like  what  O'Shanaghgan  is  now," 
thought  Nora,  who  did  not  speak.  "  They  are  all  prim 
and  proper ;  there's  not  a  single  wildness  allowed  to  come 
out  anywhere." 

"  But  they're  for  all  the  world  like  anybody  else,"  said 
Stephanotie.  "  Don't  they  love  sweeties  just!  If  you' 
had  seen  them — the  greedy  way  they  took  the  bon-bons 
out  of  the  little  boxes  I  gave  them.  Oh,  they're  just  like 
anybody  else,  only  they  are  playing  parts ;  they  are  little 
actors ;  they're  always  acting.  I'd  like  to  catch  them  when 
they  were  not.    I'd  like  to  have  them  for  one  wild  week, 


202  LIGNT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

with  you,  Molly,  and  you,  Nora.  I  tell  you  there  would  be 
a  fine  change  in  them  both." 

"  There's  a  telegraph-boy  coming  down  the  avenue," 
cried  Molly  suddenly.  "  I'll  run  and  see  what  is  the 
matter?  " 

Nora  did  not  know  why  her  heart  beat.  Telegrams 
arrived  every  day  at  The  Laurels.  Nevertheless  she  felt 
sure  that  this  was  no  ordinary  message;  she  stood  now 
and  stared  at  that  boy  as  though  her  eyes  would  start 
from  their  sockets. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Stephanotie. 

"  Nothing — nothing." 

"  You're  vexed  about  something.  Why  should  you  be 
so  distant  with  me?  " 

"  I  am  not,  Stephie.  I  am  a  little  anxious ;  it  is  diffi- 
cult always  to  be  just  the  same,"  said  Nora. 

"  Oh,  don't  I  know  it,  my  darling ;  and  if  you  had  as 
much  to  do  with  Aunt  Vi  Truefitt  as  I  have,  you  would 
realize  how  often  my  spirits  turn  topsy-turvy.  I  often 
hope  that  Til  be  Englishized  quickly,  so  that  I  may  get 
back  to  my  dear  parents.  But  there,  Molly  is  coming 
back." 

"  The  telegram  was  for  mother,"  she  said.  "  Do  let  us 
play." 

Nora  looked  at  Molly.  Her  face  was  red  ;  it  was  usually 
pale.  Nora  wondered  what  had  brought  that  high  color 
into  her  cheeks.  Molly  seemed  excited,  and  did  not  want 
to  meet  her  cousin's  eyes. 

"  Come,  let  us  have  a  race,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want 
to  put  away  childish  things.  I  want  to  have  a  good  game 
while  I  am  in  the  humor.  Let  us  see  who  will  get  first 
to  the  top  of  that  hill.  I  like  running  uphill.  I'm  off; 
catch  me  who  may !  " 

Molly  started.     Her  figure  was  stout,  and  she  ran  in  a 


THE    TELEGRAM.  203 

somewhat  awkward  way.  Nora  flew  after  her.  She  soon 
reached  her  side. 

"  There,  stop  running,"  she  said.    "  What  is  up?  " 

"What  is  up?"  echoed  Molly. 

"  Yes ;  what  was  in  that  telegram  ?  " 

"  The  telegram  was  for  mother." 

"  But  you  know  what  was  in  it.    I  know  you  do." 

"  Nothing — nothing,  Nora.  Come,  our  race  isn't  over 
yet.    I'm  off  again ;  you  cannot  catch  me  this  time." 

Molly  ran,  panting  as  she  did  so. 

"  I  cannot  tell  her ;  I  won't,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
wish  her  eyes  were  not  so  sharp.  She  is  sure  to  find  out ; 
but  I  have  begged  and  prayed  of  mother  not  to  tell  her,  at 
least  until  after  Stephanotie  and  the  others  have  gone. 
Then,  I  suppose,  she  must  know." 

Molly  reached  the  top  of  the  hill.  She  was  so  blown 
that  she  had  to  fling  herself  on  the  grass.  Nora  again 
reached  her  side. 

"  Tell  me,  Molly,"  she  said ;  "  there  is  something  the 
matter?  " 

"  There  is  a  telegram  for  mother,  and  I  cannot  tell  you 
anything  whatever  about  it,"  said  Molly  in  a  cross  voice. 
"  There,  I'm  off  once  more.  I  promised  Linda  that  I 
would  help  her  to  look  after  the  Armitage  girls.  Prim 
and  proper  as  they  are,  they  are  sometimes  a  little  bit  too 
much  for  my  dainty  sister  Linda.  You  take  care  of 
Stephie;  she's  right  good  fun.  Let  me  go,  Nora;  let 
me  go." 

Molly  pulled  her  hand  almost  roughly  out  of  her 
cousin's  grip,  and  the  next  moment  was  rushing  downhill 
as  fast  as  she  could  in  the  direction  of  the  summer-house. 
There  she  knew  she  would  find  Linda  and  her  two  friends. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  BLOW. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  efforts  of  at  least  five  merry 
girls,  there  was  a  cloud  over  the  remainder  of  that  after- 
noon. Nora's  face  was  anxious ;  her  gay  laugh  was 
wanting ;  her  eyes  wore  an  abstracted,  far-away  look.  The 
depression  which  the  letters  of  the  morning  had  caused 
was  now  increased  tenfold.  If  she  joined  in  the  games 
it  was  without  spirit;  when  she  spoke  there  was  no  ani- 
mation in  her  words.  Gone  was  the  Irish  wit,  the  pleas- 
ant Irish  humor;  the  sparkle  in  the  eyes  was  missing; 
the  gay  laughter  never  rose  upon  the  breeze.  At  tea 
things  were  just  as  bad.  Even  at  supper  matters  had  not 
mended. 

Molly  now  persistently  avoided  her  cousin.  Stephan- 
otie  and  she  were  having  a  wild  time.  Molly,  to  cover 
Nora's  gloom,  was  going  on  in  a  more  extravagant  way 
than  usual.  She  constantly  asked  Jehoshaphat  to  come 
to  her  aid ;  she  talked  of  Holy  Moses  more  than  once ;  in 
short,  she  exceeded  herself  in  her  wildness.  Linda  was  so 
shocked  that  she  took  the  Armitage  girls  to  a  distant  cor- 
ner, and  there  discoursed  with  them  in  low  whispers. 
Now  and  then  she  cast  a  horrified  glance  round  at  where 
her  sister  and  the  Yankee,  as  she  termed  Stephanotie,  were 
going  on  together.  To  her  relief,  toward  the  end  of  the 
evening,  Mrs.  Hartrick  came  into  the  room.  But  even 
her  presence  could  not  suppress  Molly  now.  She  was 
beside  herself;  the  look  of  Nora  sitting  gloomily  apart 

204 


THE  BLOW.  205 

from  the  rest,  pretending  to  be  interested  in  one  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  novels,  was  too  much  for  her.  She  knew 
that  a  bad  time  was  coming  for  Nora,  and  her  misery 
made  her  reckless.  Mrs.  Hartrick,  hearing  some  of  her 
naughtiest  words,  said  in  an  icy  tone  that  Miss  Truefitt 
had  sent  a  maid  for  Stephanotie ;  and  a  few  moments 
afterward  the  little  party  broke  up. 

As  soon  as  the  strange  girls  had  departed,  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick turned  immediately  to  Molly. 

"  I  am  shocked  at  your  conduct,"  she  said.  "  In  order 
to  give  you  pleasure  I  allowed  Miss  Miller  to  come  here ; 
but  I  should  have  been  a  wiser  and  happier  woman  if  I 
had  taken  dear  Linda's  advice.  She  is  not  the  sort  of 
girl  I  wish  either  you  or  Nora  ever  to  associate  with 
again.  Now,  go  straight  to  your  room,  and  don't  leave 
it  until  I  send  for  you." 

Molly  stalked  off  with  a  defiant  tread  and  eyes  flashing 
fire ;  she  would  not  even  glance  at  Nora.  Linda  began  to 
talk  in  her  prim  voice.  Before  she  could  utter  a  single 
word  Nora  had  sprung  forward,  caught  both  her  aunt's 
hands,  and  looked  her  in  the  face. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  must  know.  What  did  that  tel- 
egram say  ?  " 

"  What  telegram,  Nora  ?  My  dear  child,  you  forget 
yourself." 

"  I  do  not  forget  myself,  Aunt  Grace.  If  I  am  not  to 
go  quite  off  my  head,  I  must  know  the  truth." 

"  Sit  down,  Nora." 

"  I  cannot  sit ;  please  put  me  out  of  suspense.  Please 
tell  me  the  worst  at  once." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  dear ;  I  really  am." 

"  Oh,  please,  please  speak !  Is  anything — anything 
wrong  with  father?" 

"  I  hope  nothing  serious." 


206  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Ah !  I  knew  it,"  said  Nora ;  "  there  is  something 
wrong." 

"  He  has  had  an  accident." 

"An  accident?  An  accident?  Oh,  what?  Oh!  it's 
Andy ;  it  must  be  Andy.  Oh,  Aunt  Grace,  I  shall  go 
mad ;  I  shall  go  mad !  " 

Mrs.  Hartrick  did  not  speak.  Then  she  looked  at 
Linda.  She  motioned  to  Linda  to  leave  the  room.  Linda, 
however,  had  no  idea  of  stirring.  She  was  too  much  in- 
terested ;  she  looked  at  Nora  as  if  she  thought  her  really 
mad. 

"Tell  me — tell  me;  is  father  killed?" 

"  No,  no,  my  poor  child ;  no,  no.  Do  calm  yourself, 
Nora.  I  will  let  you  see  the  telegram;  then  you  will 
know  all  that  I  know." 

"  Oh,  please,  please!  " 

Mrs.  Hartrick  took  it  out  of  her  pocket.  Nora  clutched 
it  very  hard,  but  her  trembling  fingers  could  scarcely  take 
the  little  flimsy  pink  sheet  out  of  its  envelope.  At  last 
she  had  managed  it.  She  spread  it  before  her;  then  she 
found  that  her  dazed  eyes  could  not  see  the  words.  What 
was  the  misery  of  the  morning  to  the  agony  of  this  mo- 
ment? 

"  Read  it  for  me,"  she  said  in  a  piteous  voice.  "  I — I 
cannot  see." 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear ;  you  will  faint  if  you  don't." 

"  Oh  !  everything  is  going  round.    Is  he — is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  dear ;  nothing  very  wrong." 

"  Read — read  !  "  said  Nora. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  did  read.  The  following  words  fell 
upon  the  Irish  girl's  ears : 

"  O'Shanaghgan  was  shot  at  from  behind  a  hedge  this 
morning.     Seriously  injured.    Break  it  to  Nora." 


THE  BLOW.  207 

"  I  must  go  to  him,"  said  Nora,  jumping  up.  "  When 
is  the  next  train?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  I 
must  go — I  must  go  at  once." 

Now  that  the  worst  of  the  news  was  broken,  she  had 
recovered  her  courage  and  some  calmness. 

"  I  must  go  to  him,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  have  telegraphed.  I  have  been  mindful  of  you.  I 
knew  the  moment  you  heard  this  news  you  would  wish 
to  be  off  to  Ireland,  so  I  have  telegraphed  to  know  if 
there  is  danger.  If  there  is  danger  you  shall  go,  my 
dear  child ;  indeed,  I  myself  will  take  you." 

"  Oh !  I  must  go  in  any  case,"  repeated  Xora.  "  Dan- 
ger or  no  danger,  he  is  hurt,  and  he  will  want  me.  I 
must  go;  you  cannot  keep  me  here." 

Just  then  there  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  hall-door. 

"  Doubtless  that  is  the  telegram,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick.     "  Run,  Linda,  and  bring  it." 

Linda  raced  into  the  hall.  In  a  few  moments  she  came 
back  with  a  telegram. 

"  The  messenger  is  waiting,  mother,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  tore  it  open,  read  the  contents,  uttered 
a  sigh  of  relief,  and  then  handed  the  paper  on  to  Nora 
to  read. 

"  There,"  she  said ;  "  you  can  read  for  yourself." 

Nora  read: 

"  Better.  Doctor  anticipates  no  danger.  Tell  Xora  I 
do  not  wish  her  to  come.     Writing. 

"  Hartrick." 

"  There,  my  dear,  this  is  a  great  relief,"  said  Mrs< 
Hartrick. 

"  Oh !  I  am  going  all  the  same,"  said  Nora. 
"  No ;  that  I  cannot  possibly  allow." 


208  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  But  he  wants  me,  even  if  he  is  not  in  danger.  It  was 
bad  enough  to  be  away  from  him  when  he  was  well; 

but  now  that  he  is  ill You  don't  understand,  Aunt 

Grace — there  is  no  one  can  do  anything  for  father  as  I 
can.     I  am  his  Light  o'  the  Morning." 

"  His  what?  "  said  Mrs.  Hartrick. 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  he  calls  me ;  but  I  have  no  time  to 
explain  now.     I  must  go ;  I  don't  care." 

"  You  are  an  ungrateful  girl,  Nora.  If  you  had  lived 
through  the  misery  I  have  lived  through  the  last  few 
hours  this  telegram  would  fill  you  with  thankfulness.  It 
is  your  duty  to  stay  here.  You  are  under  a  promise  to 
your  kind  uncle.  He  has  rescued  your  father  and  mother 
from  a  most  terrible  position,  and  your  promise  to  him 
saying  that  you  would  stay  quietly  here  you  cannot  in  all 
honor  break.  If  your  father  were  in  danger  it  would  be 
a  different  matter.  As  it  is,  it  is  your  duty  to  stay  quietly 
here,  and  show  by  your  patience  how  truly  you  love 
him." 

Nora  sat  silent.  Mrs.  Hartrick's  words  were  absolute. 
The  good  lady  felt  that  she  was  strictly  following  the 
path  of  duty. 

"  I  can  understand  the  shock  you  have  had,"  she  con- 
tinued, looking  at  the  girl,  who  now  sat  with  her  head 
slightly  drooping,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together,  her 
attitude  one  of  absolute  despair. 

"  Linda,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  daughter,  "  fetch 
Nora  a  glass  of  wine.  I  noticed,  my  dear,  that  you  ate 
scarcely  any  supper." 

Nora  did  not  speak. 

Linda  returned  with  a  glass  of  claret.    . 

u  Now  drink  this  off,  Nora,"  said  her  aunt ;  "  I  insist." 

Nora  was  about  to  refuse,  but  she  suddenly  changed 
her  mind. 


THE  BLOW.  209 

"  I  shall  go  whether  she  gives  me  leave  or  not,"  was 
her  inward  thought.  "  I  shall  want  strength."  She 
drank  off  the  wine,  and  returned  the  empty  glass  to  her 
cousin. 

"  There  now,  that  is  better,"  said  Mrs.  Hartrick ;  "  and 
as  you  are  unaccustomed  to  wine  you  will  doubtless 
sleep  soundly  after  it.  Go  up  to  your  bedroom,  dear.  I 
will  telegraph  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  to  O'Shan- 
aghgan,  and  if  there  is  the  slightest  cause  for  alarm  will 
promise  to  take  you  there  immediately.  Be  content  with 
my  promise;  be  patient,  be  brave,  I  beg  of  you,  Nora. 
But,  believe  me,  your  uncle  knows  best  when  he  says  you 
are  not  to  go." 

"  Thank  you,  Aunt  Grace,"  said  Nora  in  a  low  voice. 
She  did  not  glance  at  Linda.  She  turned  and  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

TEN    POUNDS. 

Molly  was  standing  by  the  open  window  of  her  room 
when  Nora  came  in.  She  entered  quite  quietly.  Every 
vestige  of  color  had  left  her  face ;  her  eyes,  dark  and  in- 
tensely blue,  were  shining;  some  of  her  jet-black  hair  had 
got  loosened  and  fell  about  her  neck  and  shoulders.  Molly 
sprang  toward  her. 

"  Oh,  Nora !  "  she  said. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Nora.  "  I  have  heard ;  father  is  hurt 
— very  badly  hurt,  and  I  am  going  to  him." 

"Are  you  indeed?  Is  mother  going  to  take  you?" 
said  Molly. 

"  No ;  she  has  refused.  A  telegram  has  come  from 
my  uncle ;  he  says  I  am  not  to  go — as  if  a  thousand  tele- 
grams would  keep  me.     Molly,  I  am  going." 

"  But  you  cannot  go  alone." 

"  I  am  going." 

"When?"  said   Molly. 

"  Now — this  very  minute." 

"  What  nonsense !    There  are  no  trains." 

"  I  shall  leave  the  house  and  stay  at  the  station.  I 
shall  take  the  very  next  train  to  town.    I  am  going." 

"  But,  Nora,  have  you  money?  " 

"  Money  ?  "  said  Nora.    "  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  Mother  won't  give  you  money  if  she  does  not  wish 
you  to  go." 

"  I'll  go  to  my  room  and  see."  Nora  rushed  away. 
She  came  back  in  a  few  moments  with  her  purse;  she 


TEN  POUNDS.  211 

flung  the  contents  on  Molly's  bed.  Molly  took  up  the 
silver  coins  as  they  rattled  out  of  Nora's  purse.  Alack 
and  alas !  all  she  possessed  was  eight  shillings  and  a  few 
coppers. 

"  You  cannot  go  with  that,"  said  Molly ;  "  and  I  have 
nothing  to  lend  you,  or  I  would ;  indeed,  I  would  give  you 
all  I  possess,  but  mother  only  gives  me  sixpence  a  week. 
Nothing  would  induce  her  to  give  me  an  allowance.  I 
have  sixpence  a  week  just  as  if  I  were  a  baby,  and  you 
can  quite  understand  I  don't  save  out  of  that.  What  is  to 
be  done?  " 

Nora  looked  nonplused.  For  the  first  time  the  vig- 
orous intention,  the  fierce  resolve  which  was  bearing  her 
onward,  was  checked,  and  checked  by  so  mighty  a  rea- 
son that  she  could  not  quite  see  her  way  out  of  the  pres- 
ent difficulty.  To  ask  her  Aunt  Grace  for  money  would 
be  worse  than  useless.  Nora  was  a  sufficient  reader  of 
character  to  be  quite  certain  that  Airs.  Hartrick  when 
she  said  a  thing  meant  it.  She  would  be  kind  to  Nora 
up  to  a  certain  point.  Were  her  father  in  what  they 
called  danger  she  herself  would  be  the  first  to  help  Nora 
to  go  to  him. 

"  How  little  they  know  how  badly  he  wants  me !  " 
thought  the  girl ;  "  how  all  this  time  he  is  pining  for  me 
— he  who  never  knew  illness  in  his  life — pining,  pining 
for  me!  Nothing  shall  keep  me  from  him.  I  would 
steal  to  go  to  him;  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do." 

"  Nora,  how  queer  you  look !  "  said  Molly. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  said  Nora.  "  I  wonder  how  I  am  to 
get  that  money?  Oh,  I  have  it.  I'll  ask  Stephanotie  to 
lend  it  to  me.    Do  you  think  she  would  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  very  likely.  She  is  generous, 
and  she  has  heaps  of  money." 

"  Then  I'll  go  to  her,"  said  Nora. 


212  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Stay,  Nora ;  if  you  really  want  to  run  away " 

"  Run  away  ?  "  said  Nora.  "If  you  like  to  call  it  so,  you 
may;  but  I'm  going.  My  own  father  is  ill;  my  uncle  and 
aunt  don't  hold  the  same  position  to  me  that  my  father 
holds.     I  will  go  to  him — I  will." 

"  Then  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Molly,  "  you  must 
do  this  thing  carefully  or  you'll  be  locked  up  in  your 
bedroom.  Mother  would  think  nothing  of  locking  the 
door  of  your  bedroom  and  keeping  you  there.  You  don't 
know  mother  when  once  her  back  is  up.  She  can  be 
immensely  kind  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  then — oh!  I 
know  it — immensely  cruel." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  said  Nora.  "  I  hate  doing  a 
thing  in  this  kind  of  way — in  the  dark,  as  it  were." 

"  You  must  listen  to  me,"  said  Molly ;  "  you  must  be 
very  careful.  I  have  had  some  little  scampers  in  my 
time,  and  I  know  how  to  manage  matters.  There  is  only 
one  way  for  you  to  go." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  You  and  I  must  go  off  and  see  Stephanotie ;  but  we 
cannot  do  so  until  even-one  is  in  bed." 

"  How  can  we  go  then  ?  " 

"  We  can  easily  climb  down  from  this  window.  You  see 
this  pear-tree ;  it  almost  touches  the  window.  I  have 
climbed  down  by  it  more  than  once ;  we  can  get  in  again 
the  same  way." 

"  Oh,  yes.  If  we  must  sneak  out  of  the  house  like 
thieves,"  said  Nora,  "  it's  as  good  as  any  other  way." 

"  I  te!'  you  it's  the  only  way,"  said  Molly.  "  We  must 
be  off  on  our  way  to  London  before  mother  gets  up  to- 
morrow morning.  You  don't  know  anything  whatever 
about  trains." 

"  But  I  can  look  them  out,"  said  Nora. 

"  Well,  go  back  to  your  room.     Mother  will  not  be 


TEN  POUNDS.  213 

going  to  bed  for  quite  an  hour.  We  cannot  help  it;  we 
can  do  nothing  until  she  is  safe  in  bed.  Go  away  at  once, 
Nora;  for  if  she  finds  you  here  talking  to  me  she  will 
suspect  something.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  mother  is 
when  once  her  suspicions  are  aroused;  and  she  has  had 
good  cause  to  suspect  me  before  now." 

"  But  do  you  really  mean  to  say  you'll  come  with  me?  " 

"  I  certainly  mean  to  say  I  won't  let  you  go  alone. 
Now  then,  go  away;  just  pack  a  few  things,  and  slip 
back  to  me  when  I  knock  on  the  wall.  I  know  when 
mother  has  gone  to  bed ;  it  is  necessary  that  she  should 
be  asleep,  and  that  Linda  should  be  asleep  also;  that  is 
all  we  require.     Leave  the  rest  to  me." 

"  And  you  are  certain  Stephanotie  can  lend  us  the 
money  ?  " 

"  We  can  but  ask  her.  If  she  refuses  we  must  only 
come  back  again  and  make  the  best  of  things." 

"  I  will  never  come  back,"  said  Xora.  "  I  will  go  to 
the  first  pawnbroker's  and  pawn  everything  of  value  I 
possess ;  but  go  to  my  father  I  will." 

"  I  admire  your  courage,"  said  Molly.  "  Now  then,  go 
back  to  your  room  and  wait  for  my  signal." 

Nora  returned  to  her  room.  She  began  to  open  and 
shut  her  drawers.  She  did  not  care  about  being  quiet.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  no  one  could  keep  her  from  her  father 
against  her  will.  She  did  not  recognize  the  all-potent 
fact  that  she  had  no  money  herself  for  the  journey.  Still, 
the  money  must  be  obtained.  Of  course  Stephanotie  had 
it,  and  of  course  Stephanotie  would  lend  it;  it  would 
only  be  a  loan  for  a  few  days.  When  once  Nora  got  to 
Ireland  she  would  return  the  money  immediately. 

She  opened  her  drawers  and  filled  a  little  black  bag 
which  she  had  brought  with  her  from  home.  She  put 
in  the  trifles  she  might  need  on  her  journey;  the  rest  of 


214  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

her  things  could  stay;  she  could  not  be  bothered  with 
them  one  way  or  the  other.  Then  she  sat  quite  still  on 
the  edge  of  her  bed.  How  earnestly  she  wished  that  her 
aunt  would  retire  for  the  night,  that  Linda  would  be  quiet ! 
Linda's  room  adjoined  Nora's — it  opened  into  Xora's — 
and  Linda,  when  occasions  roused  her  suspicions,  could 
be  intensely  watchful.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  going  to 
bed ;  she  kept  moving  about  in  her  room.  Poor  Nora 
could  scarcely  restrain  herself  from  calling  out,  "  Oh,  do 
be  quick,  Linda !  What  are  you  staying  up  for?  "  but  she 
refrained  from  saying  the  fatal  words.  Presently  she 
heard  the  creak  of  Linda's  bed  as  she  got  into  it.  This 
was  followed  by  silence. 

Nora  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  still  the  dangers  were 
not  past.  Her  little  black  bag  lay  quite  ready  on  the 
chair,  and  she  herself  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed.  Mrs. 
Hartrick's  steps  were  heard  coming  up  the  stairs,  and 
the  next  moment  the  door  of  Nora's  room  was  opened 
and  the  good  lady  looked  in. 

"Not  in  bed,  Nora,"  she  said;  "but  this  is  very 
wrong.'' 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  sleep,"  said  Nora. 

Mrs.  Hartrick  went  up  to  her. 

"  Now,  my  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  rest  until 
I  see  you  safe  in  bed.  Come,  I  must  undress  you  my- 
self. What  a  wan  little  face !  My  dear  girl,  you  must 
trust  in  God.  Your  uncle's  telegram  assures  us  that 
there  is  no  danger;  and  if  there  is  the  smallest  occasion 
I  will  take  you  myself  to  your  father  to-morrow." 

"  Oh !  if  you  would  only  promise  to  take  me,"  said  poor 
Nora,  suddenly  rising  to  her  feet,  twining  her  arms  round 
her  aunt's  neck,  and  looking  full  into  her  face.  "  Oh ! 
don't  say  you  will  take  me  to  my  father  if  there 
is  danger ;   say  you'll  take  me  in  any  case.     It  would 


TEN  POUNDS.  215 

break  my  heart  to  stay  away.  I  cannot — cannot  stay  away 
from  him." 

"  Now,  you  are  talking  in  an  unreasonable  way,  Nora 
— in  a  way  I  cannot  for  a  moment  listen  to.  Your  uncle 
wishes  you  to  stay  where  you  are.  He  would  not  wish 
that  if  there  was  the  least  occasion  for  you  to  go  to  Ire- 
land." 

"  Then  you  will  not  take  me  to-morrow?  " 

"  Not  unless  your  father  is  worse.  Come,  I  must  help 
you  to  get  your  things  off." 

Nora  felt  herself  powerless  in  Mrs.  Hartrick's  hands. 
The  good  lady  quickly  began  to  divest  her  of  her  clothes, 
soon  her  night-dress  was  popped  on,  and  she  was  lying 
down  in  bed. 

"  What  is  that  black  bag  doing  here  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
rick,  glancing  at  the  bag  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  was  packing  my  things  together  to  go  to  father." 

"  Well,  dear,  we  must  only  trust  there  will  be  no  neces- 
sity. Now,  good-night.  Sleep  well,  my  little  girl.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  am  not  so  unsympathetic  as  I  look." 

Nora  made  no  reply.  She  covered  her  face  with  the 
bedclothes;  a  sob  came  from  her  throat.  Mrs.  Hartrick 
hesitated  for  a  moment  whether  she  would  say  anything 
further;  but  then,  hoping  that  the  tired-out  girl  would 
sleep,  she  went  gently  from  the  room.  In  the  passage 
she  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  Why  did  Nora  pack  that  little  bag?  "  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  Can  it  be  possible — but  no,  the  child  would  not 
do  it.     Besides,  she  has  no  money." 

Mrs.  Hartrick  entered  her  own  room  at  the  other  end 
of  the  corridor  and  shut  the  door.  Then  stillness  reigned 
over  the  house — stillness  absolute  and  complete. 

No  light  had  been  burning  under  Molly's  door  when 
Mrs.   Hartrick  had  passed.     Molly,  indeed,  wiser  than 


2l6  LIGHT   0'    THE  MORNING. 

Nora,  had  got  into  bed  and  lay  there,  dressed,  it  is  true, 
but  absolutely  in  the  dark.  Nora  also  lay  in  her  bed; 
every  nerve  was  beating  frantically ;  her  body  seemed  to 
be  all  one  great  pulse.  At  last,  in  desperation,  she  sprang 
out  of  bed — there  came  the  welcome  signal  from  Molly's 
room.  Nora  struck  a  light  and  began  to  dress  feverishly. 
In  ten  minutes  she  was  once  more  in  her  clothes.  She 
now  put  on  the  dark-gray  traveling  dress  she  had  worn 
when  coming  to  The  Laurels.  Her  hat  and  jacket  were 
quickly  put  on,  and,  carrying  the  little  black  bag,  she 
entered  Molly's  room. 

"  What  hour  is  it?  "  said  Nora.  "  It  must  be  long  past 
midnight." 

"Oh,  no;  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  not  more  than 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  it  was  one  or  two.  Do  you  know 
that  your  mother  came  to  see  me  and  insisted  on  my  get- 
ting into  bed?  " 

"  You  were  a  great  goose,  Nora.  You  should  have 
lain  down  as  I  did,  in  your  clothes ;  that  would  have  saved 
a  little  time.  But  come,  mother  has  been  quite  quiet  for 
half  an  hour  and  more;  she  must  be  sound  asleep.  We 
had  better  go." 

"  Yes,  we  had  better  go,"  said  Nora.  "  I  packed  a  few 
things  in  this  bag;  it  is  quite  light,  and  I  can  carry  it. 
My  money  is  in  it,  too — eight  shillings  and  fivepence. 
I  do  trust  Stephanotie  will  be  able  to  lend  us  the 
rest." 

Molly  had  not  been  idle  while  Nora  was  in  her  room. 
She  had  taken  care  to  oil  the  hasp  of  the  window ;  and 
now,  with  extreme  caution,  she  lifted  it  up,  taking  care 
that  it  did  not  make  the  slightest  sound  as  she  did  so.  The 
next  moment  both  girls  were  seated  on  the  window- 
ledge.     Molly  sprang  on  to  the  pear-tree,  which  creaked 


TEN  POUNDS.  217 

and  crackled  under  her  weight;  but  Mrs.  Hartrick  was 
already  in  the  land  of  dreams.  Molly  dropped  on  to  the 
ground  beneath,  and  then  it  was  Nora's  turn. 

"  Shall  I  shut  the  window  before  I  get  on  to  the  pear- 
tree  ?  "  whispered  Nora. 

"  No,  no;  leave  it  open.    Come  just  as  you  are." 

Nora  reached  out  her  arms,  grasped  the  pear  tree,  and 
slipped  down  to  the  ground. 

"  Now  then,  we  must  be  off,"  said  Molly.  "  I  hope 
Pilot  won't  bark."  She  was  alluding  to  the  big  watch- 
dog. "  But  there,  I'll  speak  to  him;  he  is  very  fond 
of  me." 

The  girls  stole  across  the  grass.  The  dew  lay  heavy 
on  it;  their  footsteps  made  no  sound.  Presently  they 
reached  the  front  of  the  house,  and  Pilot,  with  a  deep 
bay,  flew  to  meet  them. 

"Pilot!  Pilot!  quiet;  good  dog!"  said  Molly.  She 
went  on  her  knees,  flung  her  arms  round  the  dog,  and 
began  to  whisper  in  his  ear. 

"  He  understands,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  Nora.  The 
great  creature  seemed  to  do  so;  he  wagged  his  feathery 
tail  from  side  to  side  and  accompanied  the  girls  as  far 
as  the  gate. 

"  Now,  go  home,  go  home,"  said  Molly.  She  then  took 
Nora's  hand,  and  they  ran  down  the  road  in  the  direction 
of  the  village. 

"  If  it  were  not  that  you  are  so  miserable  I  should  enjoy 
this  awfully,"  said  Molly. 

"  But  how  do  you  mean  to  wake  Stephie  ?  "  asked 
Nora  at  last. 

"  Well,  luckily  for  us,  her  aunt,  Miss  Truefitt,  is  rather 
deaf.  Miss  Truefitt  has  a  bedroom  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  Stephanotie  sleeps  in  front.  I  shall  fling 
gravel  at  the  window.    There  is  not  a  soul,  as  you  see,  in 


218  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

the  streets.  It's  well  that  it  is  such  a  quiet  place;  it  will 
serve  our  purpose  all  the  better." 

They  now  found  themselves  outside  Miss  Truefitt's 
house.  Molly  took  up  a  handful  of  gravel  and  flung  it 
in  a  great  shower  at  Stephanotie's  window.  Both  girls 
then  waited  eagerly  for  a  response.  At  first  there  was 
none;  once  again  Molly  threw  the  gravel. 

"  I  do  hope  she  will  wake  soon,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Xora ;  "  that  gravel  makes  a  great  noise,  and  some  of  the 
neighbors  may  pop  out  their  heads  to  see  what  is  the 
matter.  There !  I  saw  a  flicker  of  light  in  the  room.  She 
is  thinking  it  is  thieves ;  she  won't  for  a  single  moment 
imagine  that  we  are  here.  I  do  hope  Miss  Truefitt  won't 
awaken  ;  it  will  be  all  up  with  us  if  she  does." 

"  Xo,  no,  it  won't,"  said  Nora;  "there's  not  a  person 
in  this  place  I  could  not  get  to  help  me  in  a  cause  like 
this.  The  one  who  is  absolutely  invulnerable,  who  can- 
not be  moved,  because  she  imagines  herself  to  be  right,  is 
your  mother." 

"  There's  Stephie  at  the  window  now,"  said  Molly.  A 
little  figure  in  a  night-dress  was  seen  peeping  out. 

"  It's  us,  Stephie.  Let  us  in ;  it's  most  awfully  impor- 
tant," whispered  Molly's  voice  in  deep  sepulchral  tones 
from  below. 

"But  say,  what's  the  matter?"  called  Stephanotie, 
opening  her  window  and  popping  out  her  curly  head. 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you  in  the  street.  Slip  down  and  open 
the  hall-door  and  let  us  in,"  said  Molly.  "  It's  most 
vital." 

"  It's  life  or  death,"  whispered  Nora.  There  was  some- 
thing in  Nora's  tremulous  tones  which  touched  Stephan- 
otie, and  at  the  same  time  stimulated  her  curiosity  to 
such  an  extent  that  she  flew  into  her  clothes,  dashing 
about  perfectly  reckless  of  the  fact  that  she  was  making 


TEN  POUNDS.  219 

a  loud  noise ;  but,  luckily  for  her,  Miss  Truefitt  was  deaf 
and  the  servants  slept  in  a  remote  part  of  the  old  house. 
Soon  Stephanotie  was  tumbling  downstairs,  the  chain  was 
taken  off  the  door,  and  the  two  girls  were  admitted. 

"  Where  shall  I  take  you  ?  "  said  Stephanotie.  "  It's 
all  as  dark  as  pitch.  You  know  Aunt  Vi  won't  hear  of 
gas  in  the  house.  But  stay,  we  can  go  into  the  dining 
room.  I  suppose  you  can  tell  me  by  the  light  of  a  sol- 
itary glim."  As  she  spoke  she  pointed  to  the  candle 
which  she  was  holding  high  above  her  head. 

"  Yes,  yes,  or  with  no  light  at  all,"  said  Nora. 

Stephanotie  now  opened  the  door  of  the  dining  room, 
and  the  three  girls  entered.  Stephanotie  placed  the  can- 
dle on  the  table  and  turned  and  faced  them. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  what's  up  ?  What  do  you  want  me 
to  do?" 

"  I  want  you  to  lend  me  all  the  money  you  have,"  said 
Nora. 

"  All  the  money  I  have — good  gracious !  " 

"  Oh,  Jehoshaphat !  be  quick  about  it,"  said  Molly. 
"  We  cannot  stand  here  talking ;  we  want  to  catch  the 
very  next  train  to  town." 

"  But  why  should  I  lend  you  all  the  money  I  have  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  tell  her,  Nora ;  don't  you  speak,"  said  Molly. 
"  Nora's  father  has  been  awfully  hurt ;  he  was  shot  at 
from  behind  a  hedge  by  some  scoundrel  in  Ireland.  A 
telegram  came  to-day  about  him  to  mother,  and  mother 
won't  take  Nora  to  Ireland  unless  her  father  is  in  danger, 
and  Nora  is  determined  to  go." 

"I  guess  I'd  about  do  the  same,"  said  Stephanotie, 
nodding  her  head.  "  If  poppa  was  shot  at  from  behind  a 
hedge,  I  guess  there's  nothing  would  keep  me  away  from 
him.     But  is  it  for  that  you  want  the  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nora,  plunging  her  hands  into  the  depths 


220  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

of  her  black  bag;  "  there's  only  eight  shillings  and  five- 
pence  here,  and  I  can't  get  to  Ireland  with  that." 

"  Haul  out  the  spoil,"  said  Molly ;  "  make  no  bones 
about  it.  I'm  going  with  Nora,  because  the  child  isn't 
fit  to  travel  alone." 

"  You  coming  with  me?  "  said  Nora.  "  I  didn't  know 
that." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  leave  you,  my  dear,  until  I  see  you 
safe  in  the  midst  of  your  family;  besides,  I  have  a  bit 
of  curiosity  with  regard  to  that  wonderful  old  place  of 
yours." 

"  Oh,  it's  lost,  the  place  is  quite  lost,"  said  Nora,  re- 
membering for  the  first  time  since  the  blow  had  fallen  the 
feather-bed  condition  of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  Well,  lost  or  found,  I'd  like  to  have  a  peep  at  it," 
said  Molly ;  "  so  fork  out  the  spoil,  Stephie,  and  be  quick." 

M  I  will,  of  course,"  said  Stephanotie.  "  But  how  much 
do  you  want  ?  " 

"  All  you  possess,  my  dear ;  you  cannot  give  us  more 
than  all  you  possess." 

"  And  when  am  I  likely  to  have  it  back  ?  " 

"  Oh,  as  if  that  mattered,"  said  Molly ;  "  the  thing  is 
to  get  Nora  home.  You  won't  be  any  the  worse  for  this, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  really  thinking  of  that ;  but  my  school 
fees  have  to  be  paid,  and  the  money  only  came  from 
America  two  days  ago  for  the  purpose.  You  know  Aunt 
Vi  is  very  poor." 

"  Poor  or  rich,  don't  keep  us  waiting  now,"  said  Molly. 
"  Look  at  Nora.  Do  you  think  for  a  single  moment  that 
your  school  bills  matter  when  her  heart  is  breaking?  " 

"  And  you  shall  have  the  money  back,  Stephie,  every 
farthing,  if  I  die  to  get  it  for  you,"  said  Nora  with  sud- 
den passion. 


TEN  POUNDS.  221 

"  I  don't  doubt  you,  darling,"  said  the  generous-hearted 
American  girl.  "  Well,  I'll  go  up  to  my  room  and  see 
what  I  can  do."  She  left  the  room,  ran  upstairs,  and 
quickly  returned  with  a  fat  purse.  It  contained  gold  and 
notes ;  and  very  soon  Molly  found,  to  her  infinite  delight, 
that  it  would  be  by  no  means  necessary  for  her  and  Nora 
to  take  all  Stephie's  wealth. 

"  Ten  pounds  will  be  sufficient,"  said  Molly.  "  I  have 
not  the  slightest  idea  what  the  fares  to  Ireland  are,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  do  nicely  with  this  sum.  May  we 
have  these  two  five-pounds  notes,  Stephie  ?  " 

"  You  may  and  welcome,"  said  Stephanotie.  "  I  have 
nearly  thirty  pounds  here;  but  it's  on  account  of  the 
school  bills.  As  a  rule,  poppa  is  not  quite  so  generous. 
He  says  it  is  better  for  young  girls  like  me  not  to  have 
too  much  money.  I  guess  I'd  eat  too  many  bon-bons  if 
I  had  a  lot  of  money  at  my  disposal.  But  had  you  not 
better  take  it  in  gold?    It  is  much  easier  to  change." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Molly.  "  Holy  Moses !  it's  you  that 
have  got  the  sense,  Stephie." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  replied  Stephanotie. 
"  Well,  then,  here  you  are — ten  sovereigns.  Good  luck 
to  you  both.    What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  station  and  find  out  about  the  trains,  and 
start  the  very  first  moment  possible,"  said  Molly. 

"  I  do  wish  I  was  going  with  you.  It  would  be  no 
end  of  a  lark." 

"  Why  don't  you  come?  "  asked  Molly. 

"  I  wish  I  might ;  but  there,  I  suppose  I  had  better  not. 
I  must  look  perfectly  innocent  to-morrow,  or  I  may  get 
into  an  awful  scrape  for  this.  You  must  both  go  now, 
or  Aunt  Vi  when  she  turns  in  her  sleep  may  wake.  She 
turns  in  her  sleep  about  three  times  during  the  night ;  and 
whenever  she  turns  she  wakes,  so  she  tells  me.     I  guess 


222  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

it's  about  time  for  her  first  turn  now,  so  the  sooner  you 
are  off  the  better." 

4i  Oh,  thank  you,  Stephie !  I  shall  never,  never  forget 
your  kindness,"  said  Nora.  She  flung  her  arms  impul- 
sively round  Stephanotie's  neck,  and  the  next  moment 
the  girls  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ADVENTURES — AND    HOME    AGAIN. 

The  girls  now  went  straight  to  the  railway  station; 
the  hour  was  a  quarter  to  twelve.  They  entered  and  asked 
at  once  if  there  was  a  train  up  to  town.  Yes ;  the  last 
train  would  be  due  in  ten  minutes.  Molly  now  took  the 
management  of  affairs ;  she  purchased  a  third-class  ticket 
for  herself  and  another  for  Xora. 

"  If  we  go  third-class  we  shall  not  be  specially  re- 
marked/' she  said.  "  People  always  notice  girls  who 
travel  first-class." 

The  tickets  being  bought,  the  girls  stood  side  by  side 
on  the  platform.  Molly  had  put  on  her  shabbiest  hat  and 
oldest  jacket;  her  gloves  had  some  holes  in  them;  her 
umbrella  was  rolled  up  in  such  a  thick,  ungainly  fashion 
that  it  looked  like  a  gamp.  Xora,  however,  exquisitely 
neat  and  trim,  stood  by  her  companion's  side,  betraying 
as  she  did  so  traces  of  her  good  birth  and  breeding. 

"  You  must  untidy  yourself  a  bit  when  we  get  into  the 
train,"  said  Molly.     "  I'll  manage  it." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  my  looks ;  the  thing  is  to  get 
off,"  said  Nora.  "  I'm  not  a  scrap  afraid,"  she  added ; 
"  if  Aunt  Grace  came  to  me  now  she  could  not  induce 
me  to  turn  back;  nothing  but  force  would  make  me.  I 
have  got  the  money,  and  to  Ireland  I  will  go." 

"  I  admire  you  for  your  determination,"  said  Molly. 
"  I  never  knew  that  an  Irish  girl  could  have  so  much 
spunk  in  her." 


224  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

"  And  why  not  ?  Aren't  we  about  the  finest  race  on 
God's  earth?  " 

"  Oh,  come,  come,"  said  Molly ;  "  you  mustn't  overdo  it. 
Even  you  sometimes  carry  things  a  trifle  too  far." 

Just  then  the  train  came  in.  There  was  the  usual  bus- 
tle of  passengers  alighting  and  others  getting  in ;  the  next 
moment  the  girls  had  taken  their  seats  in  a  crowded  com- 
partment and  were  off  to  town.  They  arrived  in  London 
between  twelve  and  one  o'clock,  and  found  themselves 
landed  at  Waterloo.  Now,  Waterloo  is  not  the  nicest 
station  in  the  world  for  two  very  young  girls  to  arrive  at 
midnight,  particularly  when  they  have  not  the  faintest 
idea  where  to  go. 

"  Let  us  go  straight  to  the  waiting  room  and  ask  the 
woman  there  what  we  had  best  do,"  said  Molly,  who  still 
immensely  enjoyed  taking  the  lead. 

Xora  followed  her  companion  quite  willingly.  Her 
worst  fears  about  her  father  were  held  in  abeyance,  now 
that  she  was  really  on  her  way  to  him.  The  girls  entered 
the  waiting  room.  A  tired-looking  woman  was  busy  put- 
ting out  the  gas,  and  reducing  the  room  to  darkness  for 
the  night.     She  turned  round  as  the  girls  came  in. 

"  I'm  shutting  up,  ladies,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  but  please  advise  us,"  said  Molly. 

"  How  so,  miss?     What  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  You'll  be  paid  well,"  said  Molly,  "  so  you  need  not 
look  so  angry.  Can  you  take  us  home  to  your  place  until 
the  morning?  " 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  the  woman. 

"Oh,  I'll  explain,"  said  Molly.  "We're  two  runa- 
ways. I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  we  are,  because  it's 
a  fact.  It  is  important  that  we  should  leave  home.  We 
don't  want  to  be  traced.  Will  you  give  us  lodging? — any 
sort.     We  don't  mind  how  small  the  room  is.     WTe  want 


ADVENTURES— AND  HOME  AGAIN.  225 

to  be  at  Euston  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning ;  we  are 
going  to  Holyhead." 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  said  the  woman ;  "  and  does  this  really 
mean  money?  " 

"  It  means  five  shillings,"  said  Molly. 

"  Ten  "  was  on  Nora's  lips ;  but  Molly  silenced  her  with 
a  look. 

"  There's  no  use  in  overpaying  her ;  she  won't  be  half  as 
civil,"  whispered  Molly  to  Nora. 

"  It's  five  shillings  you'll  get,"  she  repeated  in  a  firm 
voice.  "  Here,  I  have  got  the  change ;  you  can  look  in  my 
purse." 

"Molly  opened  her  purse  as  she  spoke.  The  woman,  a 
Mrs.  Terry  by  name,  did  look  in.  She  saw  the  shine  of 
gold  and  several  half-crowns. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure ! "  she  said.  "  But  you'll  promise 
not  to  get  me  into  a  scrape  ?  " 

"  We  won't  even  ask  you  your  name.  You  can  let  us 
out  of  the  house  in  time  for  us  to  catch  the  first  train 
from  Euston.  We  shall  be  off  and  away  before  we  are 
discovered." 

"  And  we'll  remember  you  all  our  lives  if  you'll  help 
us,"  said  Nora.  Then  she  added,  tears  filling  her  pretty 
eyes,  "  It's  my  father,  please,  kind  woman ;  he  has  been 
shot  at  and  is  very  ill." 

"  And  who  wants  to  keep  you  from  your  father,  you 
poor  thing  ?  "  said  the  woman.  "  Oh,  if  it's  that,  and 
there's  no  lovers  in  the  question,  I  don't  mind  helping 
you  both.  It  don't  do  for  young  girls  to  be  wandering 
about  the  streets  alone  at  night.  You  come  with  me, 
honeys.  I  can't  take  you  for  nothing,  but  I'll  give  you 
supper  and  breakfast,  and  the  best  bed  I  can,  for  five 
shillings." 

Accordingly,  in  Mrs.  Terry's  company,  the  two  girls 


226  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

left  Waterloo  Station.  She  walked  down  a  somewhat 
narrow  side-street,  crossed  another,  and  they  presently 
found  themselves  in  a  little,  old-fashioned  square.  The 
square  was  very  old  indeed,  belonging  to  quite  a  dead- 
and-gone  period  of  the  world.  The  woman  stopped  at 
a  house  which  once  had  been  large  and  stately ;  doubtless 
in  days  gone  by  it  had  sheltered  goodly  personages  and 
had  listened  to  the  laughter  of  the  rich  and  well-to-do ; 
but  in  its  old  age  the  house  was  let  out  in  tenements,  and 
Mrs.  Terry  owned  a  couple  of  rooms  at  the  very  top. 

She  took  the  girls  up  the  dirty  stairs,  opened  the  door 
of  a  not  uncomfortable  sitting  room,  and  ushered  them  in. 

"  There  now,  honeys,"  she  said;  "  the  best  I  can  do  for 
you  both  is  the  sofa  for  one  and  my  bed  for  the  other." 

"  Xo,  no,"  said  Nora,  "  we  would  not  dream  of  taking 
your  bed ;  and,  for  that  matter,  I  could  not  sleep,"  she 
added.  "  If  you  will  let  me  have  a  couple  of  chairs  I 
shall  lie  down  on  them  and  wait  as  best  I  can  until  the 
morning.  Oh,  I  have  often  done  it  at  home  and  thought 
it  great  fun." 

"  Well,  you  must  each  have  a  bit  of  supper  first ;  it  don't 
do  for  young  girls  to  go  to  bed  hungry,  more  particularly 
when  they  have  a  journey  before  them.  I'll  get  you  some 
bread  and  cheese  and  a  glass  of  milk  each — unless,  indeed, 
you  would  prefer  beer?" 

"  Oh,  no,  we  would  much  rather  have  milk,"  said  Molly. 

The  woman  bustled  about,  and  soon  came  in  with  a  jug 
of  milk,  a  couple  of  glasses,  some  bread,  and  some  indif- 
ferent butter. 

"  You  can  have  the  cheese  if  you  really  want  it,"  she 
said. 

"  Xo ;  this  will  do  beautifully,"  answered  Xora. 

"  Well  then,  my  dears,  I'll  leave  you  now  for  the  night. 
The  lamp  will  burn  all  night.     It  will  be  lonely  for  young 


ADVENTURES— AND  HOME  AGAIN.  227 

girls  to  be  in  the  dark;  and  I'll  promise  to  call  you  at  five 
o'clock.  There's  a  train  leaves  Euston  between  six  and 
seven  that  you  had  better  catch,  unless  you  want  them 
as  is  hindering  you  from  flight  to  stop  you.  I  am  in- 
terested in  this  poor  young  lady  who  wants  to  see  her 
father." 

"Oh,  thank  you;  you  are  a  perfect  darling!"  said 
Nora.  "  I'll  come  and  see  you  some  day  when  I  am 
happy  again,  and  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Bless  your  kind  heart,  honey !  I'm  glad  to  be  able 
to  do  something  for  those  who  are  in  trouble.  Now  then, 
lie  down  and  have  a  bit  of  sleep.  I'll  wake  you  sure  and 
certain,  and  you  shan't  stir,  the  two  of  you,  until  you  have 
had  a  hot  cup  of  tea  each." 

Mrs.  Terry  was  as  good  as  her  word.  She  called  the 
girls  in  good  time,  and  gave  them  quite  a  comfortable 
breakfast  before  they  started.  The  tea  was  hot;  the 
bread  was  good — what  else  did  they  want? 

Nora  awoke  from  a  very  short  and  broken  slumber. 

"  Soon  I  shall  be  back  again,"  she  thought.  "  No  mat- 
ter how  changed  and  ruined  the  place  is,  I  shall  be  with 
him  once  more.  Oh,  my  darling,  my  heart's  darling,  I 
shall  kiss  you  again !     Oh  !  I  am  happy  at  the  thought." 

Airs.  Terry  herself  accompanied  them  to  Euston.  It  was 
too  early  to  get  a  cab ;  she  asked  them  if  they  were  good 
walkers.  They  said  they  were.  She  took  them  by  the 
shortest  routes ;  and,  somewhat  tired,  but  still  full  of  a 
strange  exultation,  they  found  themselves  at  the  great 
station.  Mrs.  Terry  saw  them  into  their  train,  and  with 
many  loudly  uttered  blessings  started  them  on  their  jour- 
ney. She  would  not  touch  anything  more  than  the  five 
shillings,  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  her  last 
at  them. 

"  God  bless  them,  and  particularly  that  little  Irish  girl. 


228  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Haven't  she  just  got  the  cunningest,  sweetest  way  in  all 
the  world  ?  "  thought  the  good  woman.  "  I  do  hope  her 
father  will  be  better  when  she  gets  to  him.  Don't  she 
love  him  just !  " 

Yes,  it  had  been  the  most  daring  scheme,  the  wildest 
sort  of  adventure,  for  two  girls  to  undertake,  and  yet  it 
was  crowned  with  success.  They  were  too  far  on  their 
journey  for  Mrs.  Hartrick,  however  much  she  might  wish 
it,  to  rescue  them.  She  might  be  as  angry  as  she  pleased  ; 
but  nothing  now  could  get  them  back.  She  accordingly 
did  the  very  best  thing  she  could  do — telegraphed  to  Mr. 
Hartrick  to  say  that  they  had  absolutely  run  away,  but 
begged  of  him  to  meet  them  in  Dublin.  This  the  good 
man  did.  He  met  them  both  on  the  pier,  received  them 
quietly,  without  much  demonstration ;  but  then,  looking 
into  Nora's  anxious  face,  his  own  softened. 

"  You  have  come,  Nora,  and  against  my  will,"  he  said. 
"  Are  you  sorry  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  Uncle  George,"  she  answered.  "  I  would 
have  come  against  the  wills  of  a  thousand  uncles  if  father 
were  ill." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  he  answered,  with  a 
smile,  "  at  least  to  you ;  but,  Molly,  I  shall  have  some- 
thing to  talk  to  you  about  presently." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  meet  us,  father.  Was 
mother  terribly  angry  ?  " 

"What  could  you  expect  her  to  be?  You  have  be- 
haved very  badly." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  did  the  only  possible  thing  to 
save  Nora's  heart  from  breaking." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick  slowly,  "  that  you 
all  think  of  nothing  but  the  heart  of  Nora.  I  am  almost 
sorrv  now  that  I  ever  asked  her  to  come  to  us  in  Eng- 
land'." 


ADVENTURES— AND  HOME  AGAIN.  229 

"  Oh,  it's  home  again ;  it's  home  again !  "  cried  the 
Irish  girl  as  she  paced  up  and  down  the  platform.  "  Molly, 
do  listen  to  the  brogue.  Isn't  it  just  delicious?  Come 
along,  and  let's  talk  to  this  poor  old  Irish  beggar." 

"  Oh,  but  he  doesn't  look  at  all  pleasant,"  said  Molly, 
backing  a  little. 

"  Bless  the  crayther,  but  he  is  pleasant,"  said  Nora. 
"  I  must  go  and  have  a  chat  with  him."  She  caught  hold 
of  Molly's  hand,  and  dragged  her  to  the  edge  of  the  pave- 
ment, where  an  old  man,  with  almost  blind  eyes,  was 
seated  in  front  of  a  large  basket  of  rosy  apples. 

"  And  how  are  you  this  morning,  father  ?  "  said  Nora. 

"  Oh,  then,  it's  the  top  of  the  morning  to  yez,  honey," 
was  the  instant  reply.    "And  how  is  yourself?" 

"  Very  well  indeed,"  said  Nora. 

"  Then  it's  I  that  am  delighted  to  see  yez,  though  see 
yez  I  can't.  Oh,  then,  I  hope  that  it's  a  long  life  and 
plenty  you'll  have  before  you,  my  sweet,  dear,  illigant 
young  lady — a  good  bed  to  lie  on,  and  plenty  to  eat  and 
drink.  If  you  has  them,  what  else  could  ail  yez  ?  Good- 
by  to  yez;  good-by  to  yez." 

Nora  slipped  a  couple  of  pence  into  his  hand. 

"  The  blessings  of  the  Vargin  and  all  the  Saints  be 
on  your  head,  miss.  Oh !  it's  I  that  am  glad  to  see  yez. 
God's  blessing  on  yez  a  thousand  times." 

Nora  took  the  old  man's  hand  and  wrung  it.  He 
raised  the  white  little  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

"  There  now,"  he  said,  "  I  have  kissed  yez ;  and  these 
lips  shan't  see  wather  again  for  many  a  long  day — that 
they  shan't.  I  wouldn't  wash  off  the  taste  of  your  hand, 
honey,  for  a  bag  of  yellow  gold." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  man !  "  said  Molly.  "  Have 
you  known  him  all  your  life  ?  " 

"  Known  him  all  mv  life !  "  said  Nora.     "  Never  laid 


23°  LIGHT  <T    THE  MORNING. 

eyes  on  him  before ;  that's  the  way  we  always  talk  to  one 
another.  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  we  love  each  other  here  in 
Ireland." 

"  It  seems  so,"  answered  Molly,  in  some  astonishment. 
"  Dear  me !  if  you  address  a  total  stranger  so,  how  will 
you  speak  to  those  you  really  love  ?  " 

"  You  wait  and  see,"  answered  Nora,  her  dark-blue 
eyes  shining,  and  a  mist  of  tears  dimming  their  bright- 
ness ;  "  you  wait  and  see.  Ah,  it's  past  words  we  are 
sometimes ;  but  you  wait  and  you'll  soon  see." 

Mr.  O'Shanaghgan  was  pronounced  better,  although 
Mr.  Hartrick  had  to  admit  that  he  was  weak  and  fretful ; 
and,  now  that  Nora  had  come,  it  was  extremely  likely 
that  her  presence  would  do  her  father  a  sight  of  good. 

"  I  knew  it,  Uncle  George,"  she  answered  as  they 
seated  themselves  in  the  railway  carriage  preparatory  to 
going  back  to  O'Shanaghgan — "  I  knew  it,  and  that  was 
why  I  came.  You,  uncle,  are  very  wise,"  she  added ; 
"  and  yours  is  a  beautiful,  neat,  orderly  country ;  and 
you  are  very  kind,  and  very  clever ;  and  you  have  been 
awfully  good  to  the  Irish  girl — awfully  good ;  and  she  is 
very  ignorant ;  and  you  know  a  great  deal ;  but  one  thing 
she  does  know  best,  and  that  is,  the  love  and  the  longing 
in  the  heart  of  her  own  dear  father.  Oh,  hurrah !  I'm 
home  again ;  I'm  home  again !  Erin  go  bragh !  Erin 
go  bragh !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  WILD  IRISH. 

The  somewhat  slow  Irish  train  jogged  along  its  way; 
it  never  put  itself  out,  did  that  special  train,  starting 
when  it  pleased,  and  arriving  when  it  chose  at  its  des- 
tination. Its  guard,  Jerry  by  name,  was  of  a  like  mind 
with  itself ;  there  was  no  hurry  about  Jerry ;  he  took  the 
world  "  aisy,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

"  What's  the  good  of  fretting?  "  he  used  to  say.  "  What 
can't  be  cured  must  be  endured.  I  hurry  no  man's  cat- 
tle ;  and  my  train,  she  goes  when  she  likes,  and  I  aint 
going  to  hurry  her,  not  I." 

On  one  occasion  Jerry  was  known  to  remark  to  a  some- 
what belated  traveler: 

"  Why,  then,  miss,  is  it  hurrying  ye  are  to  meet  the 
train?    Why,  then,  you  can  take  your  time." 

"  Oh,  Jerry !  "  said  this  anxious  person,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  his  face  in  great  excitement,  "  I  forgot  a  most  impor- 
tant parcel  at  a  shop  half  a  mile  away." 

"  Run  and  fetch  it,  then,  honey,"  replied  Jerry,  "  and 
HI  keep  her  a  bit  longer." 

This  the  lady  accordingly  did.  When  she  returned, 
the  heads  of  all  the  other  angry  passengers  were  out  of 
the  windows  expostulating  with  Jerry  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  delay. 

"  Hurry  up,  miss,"  he  said  then.  He  popped  her  into 
a  compartment,  and  she,  as  he  called  the  train,  moved 
slowly  out  of  the  station. 

231 


232  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

At  times,  too,  without  the  smallest  provocation,  Jerry 
would  stop  this  special  train  because  a  little  "  pigeen  " 
had  got  off  one  of  the  trucks  and  was  running  along  the 
line.  He  and  the  porter  shouted  and  raced  after  the  ani- 
mal, caught  it,  and  brought  it  back  to  the  train.  On 
another  occasion  he  calmly  informed  a  rather  important 
passenger,  "  Ye  had  best  get  out  here,  for  she's  bust." 
"  She  "  happened  to  be  the  engine. 

Into  this  train  now  got  English  Molly  and  Irish  Nora. 
Mr.  Hartrick  pronounced  it  quite  the  vilest  service  he  had 
ever  traveled  by.  He  began  to  grumble  the  moment  he 
got  into  the  train. 

"  It  crawls,"  he  said ;  "  and  it  absolutely  has  the  cheek 
to  call  itself  an  express." 

But  Nora,  with  her  head  out  of  the  window,  was  shout- 
ing to  Jerry,  who  came  toward  her  full  of  blessings, 
anxious  to  shake  her  purty  white  hand,  and  telling  her 
that  he  was  as  glad  as  a  shower  of  gould  to  have  her 
back  again  in  the  old  country. 

At  last,  however,  the  slow,  very  slow  journey  came  to 
an  end ;  and  just  after  sunset  the  party  found  themselves 
at  the  little  wayside  station.  Here  a  sight  met  Nora's 
eyes  which  displeased  her  exceedingly.  Instead  of  the  old 
outside  car  which  her  father  used  to  drive,  with  the  shabby 
old  retainer,  whose  livery  had  long  ago  seen  its  best  days, 
there  arrived  a  smart  groom,  in  the  newest  of  livery, 
with  a  cockade  in  his  hat.  He  touched  his  hat  respect- 
fully to  Mr.  Hartrick,  and  gave  a  quick  glance  round  at 
Nora  and  Molly. 

"Is  the  brougham  outside,  Dennis?"  was  Mr.  Hart- 
rick's  response. 

"Yes,  sir;  it  has  been  waiting  for  half  an  hour;  the 
train  is  a  bit  late,  as  usual,  sir." 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  that  this  train  is  ever  in  time," 


THE    WILD  IRISH,  233 

said  Mr.  Hartrick.  "  Well,  girls,  come  along ;  I  told 
Dennis  to  meet  us,  and  here  we  are." 

Molly  thought  nothing  at  all  of  the  neat  brougham, 
with  its  pair  of  spirited  grays;  she  was  accustomed  to 
driving  in  the  better-class  of  carriage  all  her  life;  but 
Nora  turned  first  pale  and  then  crimson.  She  got  into 
the  carriage,  and  sat  back  in  a  corner;  tears  were  brim- 
ming to  her  eyes. 

"  This  is  the  first.  How  am  I  to  bear  all  the  rest?  " 
she  said  to  herself. 

Mr.  Hartrick,  who  had  hoped  that  Nora  would  be 
pleased  with  the  brougham,  with  Dennis  himself,  with 
the  whole  very  stylish  get-up,  was  mortified  at  her  si- 
lence, and,  taking  her  hand,  tried  to  draw  her  out. 

"  Well,  little  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  like  the 
improvements  I  have  made  in  the  Castle.  I  have  done 
it  all  at  your  instigation,  remember." 

"  At  my  instigation  ?  "  cried  Nora.  "  Oh,  no,  Uncle 
George,  that  you  have  not." 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  amazement,  then  closed  his 
lips,  and  said  nothing  more.  Molly  longed  to  get  her 
father  alone,  in  order  to  explain  Nora's  peculiar  conduct. 

"  It  is  difficult  for  an  Englishman  to  understand  her," 
thought  Molly.  "  I  do,  and  I  think  her  altogether  charm- 
ing; but  father,  who  has  gone  to  this  enormous  expense 
and  trouble,  will  be  put  out  if  she  does  not  show  a  little 
gratitude.  I  will  tell  her  that  she  must;  I  will  take  the 
very  first  opportunity." 

And  now  they  were  turning  in  at  the  well-known  gates. 
These  gates  were  painted  white,  whereas  they  had  been 
almost  reduced  to  their  native  wood.  The  avenue  was 
quite  tidy,  no  weeds  anywhere ;  but  Nora  almost  refused 
to  look  out.  One  by  one  the  familiar  trees  seemed  to  pass 
by   her   as   she  was   bowled   rapidly   along  in   the   new 


234  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

brougham,  as  if  they  were  so  many  ghosts  saying  good- 
by.  But  then  there  was  the  roar — the  real,  real,  grand 
roar — of  the  Atlantic  in  her  ears.  No  amount  of  tidi- 
ness, nothing  could  ever  alter  that  sound. 

"  Oh,  hurrah  for  the  sea !  "  she  said.  She  flung  down 
the  window  and  popped  out  her  head. 

Mr.  Hartrick  nodded  to  Molly.  "  She  will  see  a  great 
deal  more  to  delight  her  than  just  the  old  ocean,"  he  said. 

Molly  was  silent.  They  arrived  at  the  house ;  the 
butler  was  standing  on  the  steps,  a  nice,  stylish-looking 
Englishman,  in  neat  livery.  He  came  down,  opened  the 
carriage  door,  let  down  the  steps,  and  offered  his  arm 
to  Xora  to  alight ;  but  she  pushed  past  him,  bounded  up 
the  steps,  and  the  next  moment  found  herself  in  her 
mother's  arms. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  Nora?  "  said  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear,  but  also  sur- 
prised.   You  acted  in  your  usual  headstrong  fashion." 

"Oh,  another  time,  mother.  Mummy,  how  are  you? 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  again ;  but  don't  scold  me  now ;  just 
wait.  I'll  bear  it  all  patiently  another  time.  How  is  the 
dad,  mummy  ? — how  is  the  dad  ?  " 

"  Your  father  is  doing  nicely,  Nora ;  there  was  not 
the  slightest  occasion  for  you  to  hurry  off  and  give  such 
trouble  and  annoyance." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  have  given  annoyance  to  father," 
said  Nora.     "  Where  is  he — in  his  old  room?" 

"  No ;  we  moved  him  upstairs  to  the  best  bedroom.  We 
thought  it  the  wisest  thing  to  do ;  he  was  in  considerable 
pain." 

"The  best  bedroom?  Which  is  the  best  bedroom?" 
said  Nora.     "  Your  room,  mummy?  " 

"  The  room  next  to  mine,  darling.  And  just  come  and 
have  a  look  at  the  drawing  room,  Nora." 


THE    WILD   IRISH.  235 

"  I  will  go  to  father  first,"  said  Nora.  "  Don't  keep 
me ;  I  can't  stay." 

She  forgot  Molly ;  she  forgot  her  uncle ;  she  even  for- 
got her  mother.  In  a  moment  she  was  bounding  upstairs 
over  those  thick  Axminster  carpets — those  awful  car- 
pets, into  which  her  feet  sank — down  a  corridor,  also 
heavily  lined  with  Axminster,  past  great  velvet  curtains, 
which  seemed  to  stifle  her  as  she  pushed  them  aside,  and 
the  next  instant  she  had  burst  open  a  door. 

In  the  old  days  this  room  had  been  absolutely  destitute 
of  furniture.  In  the  older  days  again  it  had  been  the 
spare  room  of  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  Here  hospitality 
had  reigned;  here  guests  of  every  degree  had  found  a 
hearty  welcome,  an  invitation  to  stay  as  long  as  they 
pleased,  and  the  best  that  the  Castle  could  afford  for 
their  accommodation.  When  Nora  had  left  O'Shanagh- 
gan, the  only  thing  that  had  remained  in  the  old  room 
was  a  huge  four-poster.  Even  the  mattress  from  this  old 
bed  had  been  removed ;  the  curtains  had  been  taken  from 
the  windows ;  the  three  great  windows  were  bare  of  both 
blinds  and  curtains.  Now  a  soft  carpet  covered  the  en- 
tire floor;  a  neat  modern  Albert  bed  stood  in  a  recess; 
there  were  heavy  curtains  to  the  windows,  and  Venetian 
blinds,  which  were  so  arranged  as  to  temper  the  light. 
But  the  light  of  the  sunset  had  already  faded,  and  it  was 
twilight  when  Nora  popped  her  wild,  excited  little  face 
round  the  door. 

In  the  bed  lay  a  gaunt  figure,  unshaven,  with  a  beard 
of  a  week's  growth.  Two  great  eyes  looked  out  of  cav- 
erns, then  two  arms  were  stretched  out,  and  Nora  was 
clasped  to  her  father's  breast. 

"  Ah,  then,  I  have  you  again ;  may  God  be  praised 
for  all  His  mercies,"  said  the  Squire  in  a  great,  deep 
hoarse  voice. 


236  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Nora  lay  absolutely  motionless  for  nearly  half  a  min- 
ute in  his  arms,  then  she  raised  herself. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  that  was  good.     I  hungered  for  it." 

"  And  I  also  hungered  for  it,  my  darling,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  Let  me  look  at  you,  Light  o'  the  Morning ; 
get  a  light  somehow,  and  let  me  see  your  bonny,  bonny, 
sweet,  sweet  face." 

"  Ah,  there's  a  fire  in  the  grate,"  said  Nora.  "  Are 
there  any  matches  ?  " 

"  Matches,  bedad !  "  said  the  Squire ;  "  there's  every- 
thing that's  wanted.  It's  perfectly  horrible.  They  are 
in  a  silver  box,  too,  bedad !  What  do  we  want  with  it  ? 
Twist  up  a  bit  of  paper,  do,  Nora,  like  a  good  girl,  and 
light  the  glim  the  old  way." 

Nora  caught  at  her  father's  humor  at  once.  She  had 
already  flung  off  her  hat  and  jacket. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,"  she  said,  "  and  with  all  the  heart 
in  the  world."  She  tore  a  long  strip  from  the  local  paper, 
which  was  lying  on  a  chair  near  by,  twisted  it,  lit  it  in 
the  fire,  and  then  applied  it  to  a  candle. 

"  Only  light  one  candle,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  child," 
said  the  Squire.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  too  many  of  the 
fal-lals.  Now  then,  that's  better ;  bring  the  light  up  to  the 
bed.  Oh,  what  I  have  suffered  with  curtains,  and  car- 
pets, and " 

"  It's  too  awful,  father,"  said  Nora. 

"  That's  it,  child.  That's  the  first  cheery  word  I  have 
heard  for  the  last  six  weeks — too  awful  I  should  think  it 
is.  They  are  smothering  me  between  them,  Nora.  I 
shall  never  get  up  and  breathe  the  free  air  again ;  but 
when  you  came  in  you  brought  a  breath  of  air  with 
you." 

"  Let's  open  the  window.  There's  a  gale  coming  up. 
We'll  have  some  air,"  said  Nora. 


THE    WILD  IRISH.  237 

"  Why,  then,  Light  o'  the  Morning,  they  say  I'll  get 
bronchitis  if  the  window  is  opened." 

"  They!    Who  are  they?  "  said  Xora,  with  scorn. 

"  Why,  you  wouldn't  believe  it,  but  they  had  a  doctor 
down  from  Dublin  to  see  me.  I  don't  believe  he  had  a 
scrap  of  real  Irish  blood  in  him,  for  he  said  I  was  to  be 
nursed  and  messed  over,  and  gruels  and  all  kinds  of  things 
brought  to  my  bedside — I  who  would  have  liked  a  fine 
potato  with  a  pinch  of  salt  better  than  anything  under 
the  sun." 

"  You'll  have  your  potato  and  your  pinch  of  salt  now 
that  I  am  back,"  said  Nora.  "  I  mean  to  be  mistress  of 
this  room." 

The  Squire  gave  a  laugh. 

"Isn't  it  lovely  to  hear  her?"  he  said.  "Don't  it  do 
me  a  sight  of  good  ?  There,  open  the  window  wide,  Xora, 
before  your  mother  comes  in.  Oh,  your  mother  is  as 
pleased  as  Punch,  and  for  her  sake  I'd  bear  a  good  deal; 
but  I  am  a  changed  man.  The  old  times  are  gone,  never 
to  return.  Call  this  place  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  It  may 
be  suitable  for  an  English  nobleman  to  live  in,  but  it's 
not  my  style ;  it's  not  fit  for  an  Irish  squire.  WTe  are  free 
over  here,  and  we  don't  go  in  for  luxuries  and  smother- 
ations." 

"  Ah,  father,  I  had  to  go  through  a  great  deal  of  that 
in  England,"  said  Nora.  "  It's  awful  to  think  that  sort 
of  life  has  come  here ;  but  there — there's  the  window  wide 
open.    Do  you  feel  a  bit  of  a  breeze,  dad  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do ;  let  me  breathe  it  in.  Prop  me  up 
in  bed,  Nora.  They  said  I  was  to  lie  flat  on  my  back, 
but,  bedad !  I  won't  now  that  you  have  come  back." 

Nora  pushed  some  pillows  under  her  father,  and  sat 
behind  him  to  support  him,  and  at  last  she  got  him  to  sit 
up  in  bed  with  his  face  turned  to  the  wide-open  window. 


238  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

The  blinds  were  rattling,  the  curtains  were  being  blown 
into  the  room,  and  the  soft,  wild  sound  of  the  sea  fell 
on  his  ears. 

"  Ah,  I'm  better  now,"  he  said;  "  my  lungs  are  cleared 
at  bit>  You  had  best  shut  the  window  before  your  lady- 
mother  comes  in.  And  put  the  candle  so  that  I  can't 
see  the  fal-lals  too  much,"  he  continued;  "but  place  it 
so  that  I  can  gaze  at  your  bonny  face." 

"  You  must  tell  me  how  you  were  hurt,  father,  and 
where." 

"  Bedad !  then,  I  won't — not  to-night.  I  want  to  have 
everything  as  cheerful  as  possible  to-night.  My  little 
girl  has  come  back — the  joy  of  my  heart,  the  light  of  my 
eyes,  the  top  of  the  morning,  and  I'm  not  going  to  fret 
about  anything  else.'' 

"  You  needn't — you  needn't,"  said  Nora.  "Oh!  it  is 
good  to  see  you  again.  There  never  was  anybody  like  you 
in  all  the  world.    And  you  were  longing  for  Nora  ?  " 

"  Now,  don't  you  be  fishing." 

"  But  you  were — wern't  you  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure.  Here,  then,  let  me  grip 
hold  of  your  little  hand.  I  never  saw  such  a  tiny  little 
paw.  And  so  they  haven't  made  a  fine  English  lady  of 
you?  " 

"  No,  not  they,"  said  Nora. 

"  And  you  ran  away  to  see  your  old  dad  ?  Why,  then, 
you  have  the  spirit  of  the  old  O'Shanaghgans  in  you." 

"  Horses  would  not  have  kept  me  from  you,"  said  Nora. 

"  I  might  have  known  as  much.  How  I  laughed  when 
your  mother  brought  in  the  telegram  from  your  Aunt 
Grace  this  morning!  And  weren't  they  in  a  fuss,  and 
wasn't  your  Uncle  George  as  cross  as  he  could  be,  and 
your  mother  rampaging  up  and  down  the  room  until  I 
said,  '  If  you  want  to  bring  on  the  fever,  you'll  go  on  like 


THE    WILD   IRISH.  239 

that,  Ellen ;  and  then  she  went  out,  and  I  heard  her  talk- 
ing to  your  uncle  in  the  passage.  Clap,  clap  went  their 
tongues.  I  never  knew  anything  like  English  people; 
they  never  talk  a  grain  of  anything  amusing ;  that's  the 
worst  of  it.  Why,  it's  the  truth  I'm  telling  you,  darling ; 
I  haven't  had  a  hearty  laugh  since  you  left  home.  I'll  do 
fine  now.  When  they  were  out  of  the  room  didn't  I 
give  way!  I  gave  two  loud  guffaws,  that  I  did,  when  I 
thought  of  the  trick  you  had  played  them.  Ah,  you're  a 
true  daughter  of  the  old  race !  " 

Nora  nestled  up  to  her  father,  squeezing  his  hand  now 
and  then,  and  looking  into  his  face. 

"  We'll  have  a  fine  time  to-morrow,  and  the  next  day, 
and  the  next  day,  and  the  next,"  she  said.  "  Oh !  I  am 
determined  to  be  near  you.  But  isn't  there  one  little 
place  in  the  house  left  bare,  father,  where  we  can  go  and 
have  a  happy  moment  ?  " 

"  Never  a  square  inch,"  said  the  Squire,  looking  at  her 
solemnly.  "  It's  too  awful ;  even  the  attics  have  been 
cleared  out  and  put  in  order,  for  the  servants,  forsooth ! 
says  your  Uncle  George." 

"  What  do  we  want  so  many  retainers  for  ?  I  am  sure, 
now,  if  they  would  take  a  good  houseful  of  some  of  the 
poor  villagers  and  plant  them  up  in  those  attics,  there 
would  be  some  sense  in  it." 

"  Oh,  Nora,  couldn't  we  get  a  bit  of  a  place  just  like 
the  old  place,  all  to  ourselves  ?  " 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Nora ;  "  we'll  manage  some- 
how. We  can't  stand  feather-beds  for  ever  and  ever, 
father." 

"  Hark  to  her,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  you're  a  girl  after 
my  own  heart,  Light  o'  the  Morning,  and  it's  glad  I  3m 
to  see  you,  and  to  have  you  back  again." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

ALTERATIONS. 

While  Nora  and  her  father  were  talking  together  there 
came  a  sound  of  a  ponderous  gong  through  the  house. 

"  What's  that?"  said  Nora,  starting. 

"  You  may  well  ask  '  What's  that? '  "  replied  the  Squire. 
"  It's  the  dinner-gong.  There's  dinner  now  in  the  even- 
ing, bedad !  and  up  to  seven  courses,  by  the  same  token. 
I  sat  out  one  or  two  of  them ;  but,  bless  my  soul !  I 
couldn't  stand  too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing.  You  had 
best  go  and  put  on  something  fine.  Your  mother  dresses 
in  velvet  and  silk  and  jewels  for  dinner.  She  looks  won- 
derful ;  she  is  a  very  fine  woman  indeed,  is  your  mother. 
I  am  as  proud  as  Punch  of  her;  but,  all  the  same,  it  is 
too  much  to  endure  every  day.  She  is  dressed  for  all 
the  world  as  though  she  were  going  to  a  ball  at  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant's  in  Dublin.  It's  past  standing;  but  you  had 
best  go  down  and  join  'em,  Xorrie." 

"  Not  I.    I  am  going  to  stay  here,"  said  Nora. 

"  No,  no,  darling  pet;  you  had  best  go  down,  enjoy 
your  dinner,  and  come  back  and  tell  me  about  it.  It 
will  be  fun  to  hear  your  description.  You  mimic  'em 
as  much  as  you  like,  Norrie ;  take  'em  off.  Now,  none 
of  your  coaxing  and  canoodling  ways;  off  you  go.  You 
shall  come  back  later  on,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  Oh, 
they  are  stiff  and  stately,  and  they'll  never  know  you  and 
I  are  laughing  at  'em  up  our  sleeves.  Now,  be  off  with 
you." 

So,  unwillingly.  Nora  went.  In  the  corridor  outside 
she  met  her  cousin  Alollv. 


ALTERATIONS.  241 

"  Why,  you  haven't  begun  to  dress  yet,"  said  Molly ; 
"  and  I'm  going  down  to  dinner." 

"  Bother  dress !  "  said  Nora.  "  I  am  home  again. 
Mother  can't  expect  me  to  dress."  She  rushed  past  her 
cousin.  She  was  too  excited  to  have  any  sympathy  then 
writh  English  Molly.  She  ran  up  to  her  own  room,  and 
stood  with  a  sense  of  dismay  on  the  threshold.  It  had 
always  been  a  beautiful  room,  with  its  noble  proportions 
and  its  splendid  view;  and  it  was  now  furnished  ex- 
quisitely as  well. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  had  great  taste.  She  had  taken 
immense  pains  with  Nora's  room;  had  thought  it  all  out, 
and  got  it  papered  and  painted  after  a  scheme  of  color 
of  her  own.  The  furniture  was  of  light  wood — the  room 
was  fit  to  be  the  bower  of  a  gracious  and  lovely  maiden ; 
there  were  new  books  in  the  little  bookcase  hanging  up 
by  the  bedside.  Everything  was  new  and  everything  was 
beautiful.  There  was  no  sense  of  bad  taste  about  the 
room;  it  was  furnished  harmoniously. 

Nora  stood  and  gazed  at  it,  and  her  heart  sank. 

"  Oh !  it  is  kind  of  mother ;  it  is  beautiful,"  she  said  to 
herself ;  "  but  am  I  never,  never,  never  to  lie  down  in  the 
little  old  bed  again  ?  Am  I  never  to  pour  water  out  of  the 
cracked  old  jug?  Am  I  never  to  look  at  myself  in  the 
distorted  glass?  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  how  I  did  love 
looking  at  myself  in  the  old  glass,  which  made  one  cheek 
much  more  swollen  than  the  other,  and  one  eyebrow  went 
up  a  quarter  of  an  inch  above  the  other,  and  my  mouth 
was  a  little  crooked !  It  is  perfectly  horrid  to  know  one's 
self  all  one's  life  long  with  a  swollen  cheek  and  a  crooked 
mouth,  and  then  see  classical  features  without  a  scrap  of 
fun  in  them.  Oh,  dear!  But  I  suppose  I  had  best  get 
ready." 

So  Nora  washed  her  face  and  hands,  and  ran  down- 


242  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

stairs.  The  dining  room  looked  heavy  and  massive,  and 
the  footman  and  the  butler  attended  noiselessly ;  and  Mr. 
Hartrick  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan 
at  the  head  looked  as  stately  a  pair  as  could  be  found  in 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 

Molly,  nicely  dressed  in  her  dinner-frock,  was  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  elder  pair ;  but  wild  Nora,  still  wear- 
ing her  gray  traveling-dress,  felt  herself  out  of  place. 
Her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  seeing 
her  father;  her  hair  was  wild  and  disarranged.  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan  looked  at  her  all  over  with  marked  dis- 
approval. 

"  Why,  she  looks  scarcely  pretty,"  thought  the  mother 
to  herself.  "  How  tired  and  fagged  she  appears !  Dear, 
dear!  if  after  all  the  trouble  I  have  gone  to,  Nora  dis- 
appoints me  in  this  way,  life  will  really  not  be  worth 
living." 

But  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  could  scarcely  suppress  the 
joy  which  was  now  filling  her  life.  She  was  the  mistress 
of  a  noble  home;  she  was  at  the  head  of  quite  the  finest 
establishment  in  the  county.  Already  all  the  best  county 
folk  had  called  upon  her  several  times. 

It  is  sad  to  state  that  these  great  and  rich  people  had 
rather  neglected  the  lady  of  the  Castle  during  the  last  few 
years ;  but  now  that  she  drove  about  behind  a  pair  of 
horses,  that  her  house  was  refurnished,  that  wealth 
seemed  to  have  filled  all  her  coffers,  she  was  certainly 
worth  attending  to. 

"  Now  that  you  have  come  back,  Nora,"  said  her 
mother  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  "  I  wish  to  say  that  I 
have  several  invitations  for  you,  and  that  Molly  can  ac- 
cept too."  She  looked  with  kindness  at  Molly,  who,  if 
only  Nora  had  been  happy,  would  have  thoroughly  en- 
joyed herself. 


A  L  TERA  TIONS.  243 

"  I  must  show  you  the  drawing  room  after  dinner,  my 
dear,"  said  her  mother.  "  It  is  really  a  magnificent  room. 
And  I  must  also  show  you  my  morning  room,  and  the 
library,  and  your  father's  smoking  room." 

"  This  is  a  splendid  house,  you  know,  Ellen,"  said  Mr. 
Hartrick  to  his  sister,  "  and  pays  for  doing  up.  Why,  a 
house  like  this  in  any  habitable  part  of  England  would 
fetch  a  colossal  fortune." 

Nora  sighed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Molly 
glanced  at  her,  and  the  word  "  Jehoshaphat !  "  was  almost 
trembling  on  her  lips.  She  kept  it  back,  however ;  she 
was  wonderfully  on  her  good  behavior  to-night.  At  last 
the  long  and  dreary  meal  came  to  an  end.  Xora  could 
scarcely  suppress  her  yawns  of  utter  weariness.  She  be- 
gan to  think  of  nothing  but  lying  down,  shutting  her  eyes, 
and  going  into  a  long  and  dreamless  slumber. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  rose  from  the  table  and  sailed  out 
of  the  room.  A  footman  flung  open  the  door  for  her,  and 
Nora  and  Molly  followed  in  her  wake. 

"  I'll  be  with  you  presently  in  the  drawing  room,  Ellen," 
said  Mr.  Hartrick  to  his  sister ;  "  but  first  of  all  I'll  just 
go  up  and  have  a  smoke  with  O'Shanaghgan.  You  found 
your  father  much  better  to-night,  did  you  not,  Xora  ?  " 

"  I  thought  father  looked  very  bad  indeed,"  said  Xora. 
She  could  not  add  another  word ;  she  went  out  into  the 
hall. 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  took  her  hand,  squeezing  it  up  in 
a  tight  pressure. 

"  You  ought  not  to  speak  in  that  tone  to  your  uncle," 
she  said ;  "  you  can  never,  never  know  all  that  he  has  done 
for  us.  He  is  the  noblest,  the  most  generous,  the  best 
man  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that,  mother ;  I  know  all  that,"  said 
Nora.     She  did  not  add,  "  But  for  me  he  would  never 


244  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

have  done  it.  It  was  I  who  inserted  the  thin  edge  of  the 
wedge."  Her  tone  was  gentle;  her  mother  looked  at  her 
with  a  softening  of  her  own  face. 

"  Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "  your  Uncle  George  has  taken 
a  great  fancy  to  you.  Notwithstanding  your  eccentrici- 
ties, Xora — and  they  are  considerable — he  says  you  have 
the  making  of  a  fine  girl.  But  come,  we  must  not  neglect 
your  cousin.  Come  here,  dear  Molly ;  you  and  Nora 
will  be  interested  in  seeing  what  a  beautiful  place  Castle 
O'Shanaghgan  is  now." 

Molly  took  hold  of  Nora's  other  hand,  and  they  entered 
the  drawing  room.  It  was  lit  with  soft  candles  in  many 
sconces ;  the  blinds  were  down ;  across  the  windows  were 
drawn  curtains  of  Liberty  silk  of  the  palest,  softest  shade 
of  rose.  On  the  floor  was  a  carpet  of  many  soft  colors 
cunningly  mingled.  The  walls  were  painted  a  pale  artis- 
tic green,  large  mirrors  were  introduced  here  and  there, 
and  old  family  portraits,  all  newly  framed,  of  dead  and 
gone  O'Shanaghgans,  hung  on  the  painted  walls.  There 
were  new  tables,  knick-knacks — all  the  various  things 
which  constitute  the  drawing  room  of  an  English 
lady. 

Xora  felt  for  one  brief,  passionate,  angry  moment  that 
she  was  back  again  at  The  Laurels ;  but  then,  seeing  the 
light  in  her  mother's  eyes,  the  pink  flush  of  happiness  on 
her  cheeks,  she  restrained  herself. 

"  It  makes  you  happy,  mummy,"  she  said,  "  and " 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  it,  my  darling?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  beautiful  room." 

"  Ah !  that  is  right.  I  thought  my  little  wildflower 
would  appreciate  all  these  things  when  she  came  back 
again.  Ah,  Nora!  you  have  been  a  naughty,  wild  imp; 
but  your  father  was  delighted  when  he  heard  what  you 
had  done.    Of  course  I  am  terriblv  angry." 


ALTERATIONS.  245 

"  No,  you  are  not,  mummy ;  you  are  pleased  to  see  me 
again." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  you  back,  Nora ;  but  as  to  being 
pleased,  how  could  I  be?  However,  you  can  stay  here 
for  a  fortnight  or  so  now  that  you  have  come ;  and  then, 
when  your  dear  uncle  leaves  us,  you  and  Molly  can  go 
back  with  him." 

Nora  did  not  say  anything;  but  a  stubborn  look  came 
into  her  face  which  her  mother  knew  of  old. 

From  the  drawing  room  they  went  to  the  library,  which 
had  also  undergone  complete  rejuvenation.  The  walls 
were  laden  with  standard  works  of  different  kinds ;  but 
some  of  the  shelves  were  still  empty. 

"  The  old  books,  your  uncle  says,  were  of  great  value,'* 
said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  "  and  he  sent  them  all  to  Dublin 
to  be  rebound.  They  have  not  come  back  yet.  They  are 
to  be  bound  in  old  calf,  and  will  suit  the  rest  of  the  room. 
Is  it  not  a  magnificent  apartment  ?  " 

Nora  said  "  Yes  "  in  a  somewhat  dreamy  voice. 

They  then  went  to  her  mother's  morning-room,  and 
then  on  to  the  Squire's  smoking-room. 

"  They  might  at  least  have  left  this  alone,"  thought  the 
girl.  "  They  might  at  least  have  left  this  one  room, 
where  he  could  retire  when  he  felt  quite  choked  by  all  the 
furniture  in  the  rest  of  the  place." 

But  even  the  Squire's  smoking-room  was  changed  into 
the  smoking-room  of  an  English  gentleman.  There  were 
deep  easy-chairs  covered  with  leather;  there  were  racks 
for  pipes,  and  great  brass  dogs  before  the  fireplace;  on 
the  floor  was  a  thick  carpet.  Nora  felt  as  if  she  longed  to 
give  it  a  savage  kick. 

At  last  the  terrible  ordeal  of  going  through  the — to 
her,  utterly  ruined — house  was  over,  and  she  and  Molly 
found  themselves  alone. 


246  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  I  will  go  up  to  your  father  for  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  nodding  to  Nora.  "  You  and  your 
cousin  will  like  to  have  a  chat ;  and  then,  my  dears,  I 
should  recommend  you  both  to  go  to  bed  as  early  as  pos- 
sible." 

When  they  were  back  again  in  the  big  drawing  room 
Nora  gave  Molly  a  wild  look. 

"  Come  out,"  she  said ;  "  at  least  out  of  doors  the  air 
is  the  same  as  of  old." 

Molly  caught  up  a  shawl  and  wrapped  it  round  her 
head;  but  Nora  went  out  just  as  she  was. 

"  You'll  catch  cold,"  said  English   Molly. 

"  I  catch  cold  in  my  native  land!  "  replied  Irish  Nora. 
"  How  little  you  know  me !  Oh,  come,  Molly,  I  am  going 
to  be  wild ;  I  am  going  to  give  way." 

They  both  stepped  outside  on  the  broad  gravel  sweep. 
The  moon  was  up,  and  it  was  shining  over  everything. 
In  the  moonlight  Castle  O'Shanaghgan  looked  very  much 
as  it  had  done  before.  The  moon  had  always  glorified  the 
old  place,  and  it  glorified  it  still.  Nora  stood  and  gazed 
around  her ;  up  to  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  with  their 
dark  summits  clearly  defined  against  the  evening  sky ; 
across  the  wide  breadth  of  the  Atlantic ;  over  the  thick 
plantations,  the  fields,  and  the  huge  trees  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"  It's  all  the  same,"  she  said,  with  a  glad  laugh ;  "  thank- 
God  it  is  all  the  same.  Even  your  father,  Molly,  cannot 
destroy  the  place  outside,  at  least." 

"Oh  Nora,  it  is  such  a  lovely,  lovely  place !"  said  Molly. 
"  Cannot  you  be  happy  in  it  with  its  modern  dress?  " 

"  Happy,"  said  Nora,  suddenly  brought  back  to  her 
sense  of  misery  by  the  word.  "  I  am  thankful  that  my 
father  is  not  so  ill ;  but — but  you  must  help,  Molly. 
Promise  that  vou  will." 


A L  TERA  TIONS.  247 

"  I  am  sure  I'd  do  anything  in  the  world,"  said  Molly. 
"  I  think  I  have  been  very  good  to-day.  I  have  kept  in 
my  naughty  words,  Jehoshaphat  and  Moses  and  Ele- 
phants, and  all  the  rest.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do, 
Nora?" 

"  We  must  get  him  out  of  that  room,"  said  Nora. 

"  Him  ?     You  mean  your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  will  never  recover  there.  I  have  been  think- 
ing and  thinking,  and  I'll  have  my  plan  ready  by  the 
morning;  only  you  must  help  me.  I'll  get  Hannah 
Croneen  to  come  in,  and  we'll  do  it  between  us  if  you  can 
help  me." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Molly. 

"  I'll  tell  you  in  the  morning;  you  wait  and  see." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE  LION   IN   HIS   CAGE. 

The  Squire  was  better,  and  not  better.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  very  nasty  flesh-wound  in  the  thigh ;  but  the 
bullet  had  been  extracted.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
clew  to  the  identity  of  his  would-be  murderer.  The  Squire 
himself  had  said  nothing.  He  had  been  found  almost 
bleeding  to  death  by  the  roadside;  the  alarm  had  been 
given,  and  in  terror  and  consternation  his  own  tenants 
had  brought  him  home. 

The  Squire  could  have  said  a  good  deal,  but  he  said 
nothing.  The  police  came  and  asked  him  questions,  but 
he  kept  his  lips  closed. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  man,"  he  said  after  a  pause.  "  Some- 
body fired,  of  course ;  but  I  can't  tell  who,  for  I  saw  no 
one ;  it  was  from  behind  the  hedge.  Why  the  scoundrel 
who  wanted  to  do  for  me  didn't  shoot  a  little  higher  up 
puzzles  me.    But  there,  let  it  rest — let  it  rest." 

And  the  neighbors  and  the  ~ountry  had  to  let  it  rest, 
for  there  was  no  evidence  against  anyone.  Amongst 
those  who  came  to  inquire  after  the  Squire  was  Andy 
Neil.  He  came  often,  and  was  full  of  commiseration,  and 
loudly  cursed  the  brute  who  had  very  nearly  done  for 
his  old  landlord.  But  the  neighbors  had  suspicions  with 
regard  to  Andy,  for  he  had  been  turned  out  of  his  cot 
in  the  mountains,  and  was  living  in  the  village  now. 
They  scowled  at  him  when  he  passed,  and  turned  aside; 

248 


THE  LION  IN  HIS  CAGE.  249 

and  his  own  face  looked  more  miserable  than  ever.  Still, 
he  came  daily  up  to  the  big  kitchen  to  inquire  for  the 
Squire. 

The  doctor  said  there  was  no  reason  whatever  why- 
Mr.  O'Shanaghgan  should  not  get  quite  well.  He  was  by 
no  means  old — not  more  than  fifty ;  there  was  not  the 
slightest  occasion  for  a  break-down,  and  yet,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, a  break-down  there  was.  The  Squire  got 
morose ;  he  hardly  ever  smiled ;  even  Nora's  presence 
scarcely  drew  a  hearty  guffaw  from  his  lips.  The  doctors 
were  puzzled. 

"  What  can  be  wrong?  "  they  said.  But  Nora  herself 
knew  very  well  what  was  wrong.  She  and  her  father 
were  the  only  ones  who  did  know.  She  knew  that  the 
old  lion  was  dying  in  captivity ;  that  he  was  absolutely  suc- 
cumbing to  the  close  and  smothered  life  which  he  was 
now  leading.  He  wanted  the  free  air  of  his  native 
mountains ;  he  wanted  the  old  life,  now  gone  for  ever, 
back  again. 

"  It  is  true  the  place  is  saved,  Norrie,"  he  said  once  to 
his  daughter,  "  and  I  haven't  a  word  to  say.  I  would  be 
the  most  ungrateful  dog  in  existence  if  I  breathed  a  sin- 
gle word  of  complaint.  The  place  is  saved ;  and  though 
it  nominally  belongs  now  to  your  Uncle  George,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  it  is  my  place,  and  he  gives  me  to 
understand  that  at  my  death  it  goes  to  my  boy.  Yes,  he 
has  done  a  noble  deed,  and  of  course  I  admire  him  im- 
mensely." 

"  And  so  do  I,  father,"  said  Nora ;  but  she  looked 
thoughtful  and  troubled ;  and  one  day,  after  she  had  been 
in  her  father's  room  for  some  time,  when  she  met  her 
uncle  in  the  avenue  she  spoke  to  him. 

"  Well,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  what  about  coming 
back  with  me  to  England  when  I  go  next  wreek  ?  " 


250  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  Uncle  George.  How  can 
I  leave  my  father  while  he  is  ill  ?  " 

"  That  is  true.  I  have  been  thinking  about  him.  The 
doctors  are  a  little  distressed  at  his  growing  weakness. 
They  cannot  quite  understand  it.  Tonics  have  been  given 
to  him  and  every  imaginable  thing  has  been  done.  He 
wants  for  nothing;  his  nourishment  is  of  the  best;  still 
he  makes  no  way.     It  is  puzzling." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Nora. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  girl?  " 

"  You  might  do  all  that  sort  of  thing  for  an  eagle,  you 
know,"  said  Xora,  raising  her  clear  eyes  and  fixing  them 
on  her  uncle's  face.  "  You  might  give  him  everything 
in  his  prison,  much  more  than  he  had  when  he  was  free; 
but,  all  the  same,  he  would  pine  and — and  he  would  die." 
Tears  rose  to  the  girl's  eyes ;  she  dashed  them  away. 

"  My  dear  little  Xora,  I  don't  in  the  least  see  the  re- 
semblance," said  Mr.  Hartrick,  who  felt,  and  perhaps 
justly,  rather  nettled.  "  You  seem  to  imply  by  your 
words  that  I  have  done  your  father  an  injury  when  I 
secured  the  home  of  his  ancestors  for  him." 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  Uncle  George,"  said  Xora.  "  I  don't 
really  mean  to  say  anything  against  you,  for  you  are  just 
splendid." 

Mr.  Hartrick  did  not  reply;  he  looked  puzzled  and 
thoughtful.     Xora,  after  a  moment's  silence,  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  most  grateful  to  you.  I  believe  you  have  done 
what  is  best — at  least  what  you  think  best.  You  have 
made  my  mother  very  happy,  and  Terence  will  be  so 
pleased ;  and  the  tenants — oh !  they  will  get  their  rights 
now,  their  cabins  will  be  repaired,  the  roofs  mended,  the 
windows  put  in  fresh,  the  little  gardens  stocked  for  them. 
Oh,  yes,  you  are  behaving  most  generously.  Anyone 
would  suppose  the  place  belonged  to  you." 


THE  LION  IN  HIS  CAGE.  251 

"  Which  it  does,"  muttered  Mr.  Hartrick  under  his 
breath. 

"  You  have  made  a  great  many  people  happy,  only 
somehow — somehow  it  is  not  quite  the  way  to  make  my 
father  happy,  and  it  is  not  the  way  to  make  me  happy. 
But  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  except  that  I  cannot  leave 
my  father  now." 

"  You  must  come  to  us  after  Christmas,  then,"  said 
Mr.  Hartrick.  "  I  must  go  back  next  week,  and  I  shall 
probably  take  Molly  with  me." 

"  Oh !  leave  her  with  me  here,"  said  Nora  suddenly. 
"  I  do  wish  you  would ;  the  air  here  is  so  healthy.  Do  let 
her  stay,  and  then  perhaps  after  Christmas,  when  things 
are  different,  we  might  both  go  back." 

"  Of  course  things  will  be  different,"  said  Mr.  Hart- 
rick. "  A  new  doctor  is  coming  to  see  your  father  next 
week,  and  he  will  probably  change  the  regime;  he  may 
order  him  fresh  air,  and  before  long  we  shall  have  him 
strong  and  well  amongst  us  again.  He  has  absolutely 
nothing  wrong  except " 

"  Except  that  he  has  everything  wrong,"  said 
Nora. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear  child,  I  will  think  over  your  sug- 
gestion that  Molly  should  stay  with  you ;  and  in  the  mean- 
time remember  that  we  are  all  coming  to  O'Shanaghgan 
for  Christmas." 

"  All  of  you !  "  said  Nora  in  dismay. 

"  Yes,  all  of  us.  Your  aunt  has  never  spent  a  real  old- 
fashioned  Christmas  in  her  life,  and  I  mean  her  to  have  it 
this  year.  I  shall  bring  over  some  of  our  English  habits 
to  this  place.  We  will  roast  an  ox  whole,  and  have  huge 
bonfires,  and  all  kinds  of  things,  and  the  tenantry  shall 
have  a  right  good  time.  There,  Nora,  you  smile;  that 
pleases  you." 


*52  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  You  are  so  kind,"  she  said.  She  clasped  his  hands  in 
both  of  hers,  and  then  turned  away. 

"  There  never  was  anyone  kinder,"  thought  the  girl  to 
herself;  "  but  all  the  same  he  does  not  understand."  She 
re-entered  the  house  and  went  up  to  her  father's  room. 

The  Squire  was  lying  on  his  back.  The  days  were 
now  getting  short,  for  November  had  begun.  There  was 
a  big  fire  in  the  grate;  the  Squire  panted  in  the  hot 
room. 

"  Just  come  in  here,"  he  said  to  Nora.  "  Don't  make 
much  noise ;  lock  the  door — will  you,  pet  ?  " 

Nora  obeyed. 

"  Now  fling  the  window  wide  open ;  let  me  get  a  breath 
of  air." 

Nora  did  open  the  window,  but  the  air  was  moist  and 
damp  from  the  Atlantic,  and  even  she,  fearless  as  she  was, 
hesitated  when  she  heard  her  father's  cough. 

"  There,  child,  there,"  he  said ;  "  it's  the  lungs  begin- 
ning to  work  properly  again.  Now  then,  you  can  shut  it 
up;  I  hear  a  step.  For  Heaven's  sake,  Nora,  be  quick, 
or  your  mother  may  come  in,  and  won't  she  be  making  a 
fuss !     There,  unlock  the  door." 

"  But  you  are  worse,  father ;  you  are  worse." 

"  What  else  can  you  expect?  They  don't  chain  up  wild 
animals  and  expect  them  to  get  well.  I  never  lived 
through  anything  of  this  sort  before,  and  it's  just  smoth- 
ering me." 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  entered  the  room. 

"  Patrick,"  she  said,  "  would  you  like  some  sweetbread 
and  a  bit  of  pheasant  for  your  dinner?  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  I'd  like?"  roared  the  Squire. 
"  A  great  big  mealy  potato,  with  a  pinch  of  salt." 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  uttered  a  sigh,  and  the  color 
rushed  into  her  pale  cheeks. 


THE  LION  IN  HIS  CAGE.  253 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  said,  "  you  are  downright  vul- 
gar." 

The  Squire  gave  a  feeble  guffaw.  Nora's  heart  beat 
as  she  noticed  how  feeble  it  was.  She  left  the  room,  be- 
cause she  could  not  stay  there  another  moment.  The 
time  had  come  to  act.  She  had  hesitated  long,  but  she 
would  hesitate  no  longer.  She  ran  downstairs.  The 
first  person  she  saw  was  Molly. 

"  Well,"  said  Molly,  "  how  is  he?  " 

"  Very  bad  indeed,"  said  Nora ;  "  there's  not  a  moment 
to  lose.     Something  must  be  done,  and  quickly." 

"  What  can  be  done?  " 

"  Come  out  with  me ;  I  have  a  thought  in  my  head." 

Nora  and  Molly  went  outside.  They  crossed  the  av- 
enue, went  along  the  plantation  at  the  back,  and  soon 
found  themselves  in  the  huge  yard  which  flanked  the  back 
of  the  house.  In  a  distant  part  of  the  yard  was  a  barn, 
and  this  barn  Nora  now  entered.  It  was  untidy;  the 
doors  fitted  badly;  the  floor  was  of  clay.  It  was  quite 
empty. 

Nora  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  dreamed  of  this  barn  last  night,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  it  is  the  very  place." 

"  For  what,  Nora ;  for  what  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  have  father  moved  here  to-day." 

"  Nora,  what  nonsense  you  are  talking !  You  will  kill 
him." 

"  Save  his  life,  you  mean,"  said  Nora.  "  I  am  going 
to  get  a  bedstead,  a  straw  paillasse,  and  an  old  hard  mat- 
tress, and  I  am  going  to  have  them  put  here;  and  we'll 
get  a  bit  of  tarpaulin  to  put  on  the  floor,  to  prevent  the 
damp  coming  up;  and  I'll  put  a  curtain  across  this  win- 
dow so  that  he  needn't  have  too  much  draught,  the  dar- 
ling ;  and  there  shall  be  nothing  else  in  the  room  except  a 


254  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

wooden  table.  He  shall  have  his  potatoes  and  salt,  and 
his  bit  of  salt  bacon,  if  he  wishes,  and  he  shall  have  his 
great  big  bare  room.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Molly,  he'll 
never  get  well  unless  he  is  brought  here." 

"  What  a  girl  you  are !     But  how  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Leave  it  to  me.  Do  you  mind  driving  with  me  on  the 
outside  car  as -far  as  Cronane?  " 

"  The  outside  car?     I  have  never  been  on  it  yet." 

"Oh,  come  along;  I'll  introduce  you  to  the  sweetest 
conveyance  in  the  world." 

Xora's  spirits  rose  at  the  thought  of  immediate  ac- 
tion. 

"Won't  it  surprise  and  delight  him?"  she  said.  She 
went  up  to  one  of  the  grooms.  He  was  an  English 
groom,  and  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  appearance  of 
the  young  lady  in  the  yard. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  miss?  "  he  said. 

"  I  want  Angus,"  answered  Nora.     "  Where  is  he?  " 

Angus  was  one  of  the  few  old  Irish  servants  who  were 
still  left  at  Castle  O'Shanaghgan.  He  now  came  for- 
ward in  a  sheepish  kind  of  way;  but  when  he  saw  Nora 
his  face  lit  up. 

"  Put  one  of  the  horses  to  the  outside  car  at  once — 
Black  Bess  if  you  can,"  said  Nora. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  man,  "  with  all  the  pleasure  in 
life." 

"  Don't  take  it  round  to  the  front  door.  Miss  Molly 
and  I  want  to  drive  to  Cronane.  You  needn't  come 
with  us,  Angus;  just  put  the  horse  to,  and  I'll  drive 
myself." 

Accordingly,  in  less  than  ten  minutes'  time  the  two  girls 
were  driving  in  the  direction  of  Cronane.  Molly,  brave 
as  she  was,  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  on.  She  clung 
to  the  sides  of  the  car  and  panted. 


THE  LION  IN  HIS  CAGE.  255 

"  Nora,  as  sure  as  Jehoshaphat  and  Elephants,  I'll  be 
flung  out  on  to  the  highroad !  "  cried  Molly. 

"  Sit  easy  and  nothing  will  happen,"  said  Nora,  who 
was  seated  comfortably  herself  at  the  other  side  and  was 
driving  with  vigor. 

Presently  they  reached  Cronane,  which  looked  just  as 
dilapidated  as  ever. 

"Oh,  the  darling  place!  Isn't  it  a  relief  to  see  it?" 
said  Nora.  "  Don't  I  love  that  gate  off  its  hinges !  It's 
a  sight  for  sore  eyes — that  it  is." 

They  dashed  up  the  avenue  and  stopped  before  the  hall 
door. 

Standing  on  the  steps — where,  indeed,  he  spent  most 
of  his  time — and  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  an  old  church- 
warden pipe,  was  Squire  Murphy.  He  raised  a  shout 
when  he  saw  Nora,  and  ran  down  the  steps  as  fast  as  he 
could. 

"  Why,  my  bit  of  a  girl,  it's  good  to  see  you !  "  he  cried. 
"  And  who  is  this  young  lady  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  cousin,  Molly  Hartrick.  Molly,  may  I  in- 
troduce you  to  Squire  Murphy  ?  " 

"  Have  a  grip  of  the  paw,  miss,"  said  Squire  Murphy, 
holding  out  his  great  hand  and  clasping  Molly's. 

"  And  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Nora  alannah  ? 
'Tis  I  that  am  glad  to  see  you.  There's  Biddy  in  the 
house,  and  the  wife;  they'll  give  you  a  hearty  welcome, 
and  no  mistake.  You  come  along  right  in,  the  pair  of 
yez ;  come  right  in." 

"  But  I  cannot,"  said  Nora.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
alone  and  at  once.  Can  you  get  one  of  the  boys  to  hold 
the  horse?  " 

"  To  be  sure.  Dan,  you  spalpeen !  come  forward  this 
minute.  Now  then,  hold  Black  Bess,  and  look  alive,  lad. 
Well,  Nora,  what  is  it?" 


256  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Molly  stood  on  the  gravel  sweep.  Nora  and  the  Squire 
walked  a  few  paces  away. 

"  It's  this,"  said  Nora ;  "  you  haven't  asked  yet  how 
father  is." 

"  But  he  is  doing  fine,  they  tell  me.  I  see  I'm  not 
wanted  at  O'Shanaghgan ;  and  I'm  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  go  there  when  the  cold  shoulder  is  shown  to  me." 

"  Oh !  they  would  never  mean  that,"  said  Nora,  in  dis- 
tress. 

"Oh,  don't  they  mean  it,  my  dear?  Haven't  I  been 
up  to  the  Castle  day  after  day,  and  asking  for  the  Squire 
with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  and  ready  to  sit  by  his  side 
and  to  colleague  with  him  about  old  times,  and  raise  a 
laugh  in  him,  and  smoke  with  him ;  and  haven't  I  been 
repelled  ? — the  Squire  not  well  enough  to  see  me  ;  madam 
herself  not  at  home.  Oh,  I  know  their  ways.  When  you 
were  poor  at  O'Shanaghgan,  then  Squire  Murphy  was 
wanted ;  but  now  that  you're  rich,  Squire  Murphy  can 
go  his  own  way  for  aught  you  care." 

"  It  is  not  true,  Mr.  Murphy,"  said  the  girl,  her  bright 
blue  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  Oh !  "  she  added,  catching 
his  hand  impulsively,  "  don't  I  know  it  all  ?  But  it's 
not  my  father's  fault ;  he  would  give  the  world  to  see  you 
— he  shall  see  you.    Do  you  know  why  he  is  ill  ?  " 

"  Why  so,  Nora?  Upon  my  word,  you're  a  very  hand- 
some girl,  Nora." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  my  looks  now.  My  father  is 
ill  because — because  of  all  the  luxury  and  the  riches." 

"  Bedad,  then,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Squire  of 
Cronane.  He  slapped  his  thigh  loudly.  "  It's  the  best  bit 
of  news  I  have  heard  this  many  a  day ;  it  surprised  me 
how  he  could  put  up  with  it.     And  it's  killing  him?  " 

"  That's  about  it,"  said  Nora.    "  He  must  be  rescued." 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  said  Squire  Murphy. 


THE  LION  IN  HIS   CAGE.  257 

"  Will  you  do  this  ?  Will  you  this  very  day  get  out  the 
long  cart  and  have  an  old  bedstead  put  into  it,  and  an  old 
paillasse  and  an  old  mattress ;  and  will  you  see  that  it  is 
taken  over  this  very  afternoon  to  O'Shanaghgan?  I'll  be 
there,  and  the  bedstead  shall  be  put  up  in  the  old  barn,  and 
father  shall  sleep  in  the  barn  to-night,  and  you  and  I, 
Squire,  and  Hannah  Croneen,  and  Molly,  will  help  to 
move  him  while  the  rest  of  the  family  are  at  tea." 

The  Squire  stared  at  Nora  so  long  after  she  had  made 
these  remarks  that  she  really  thought  he  had  taken  leave 
of  his  senses;  then  he  burst  into  a  great  loud  laugh, 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  side,  and  wrung  Nora's  until 
she  thought  he  would  wring  it  off.  Then  he  turned  back 
to  the  house,  walking  so  fast  that  Nora  had  to  run  after 
him.  But  she  knew  that  she  had  found  her  ally,  and  that 
her  father  would  be  saved. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

RELEASE   OF  THE   CAPTIVE. 

All  Nora's  wishes  were  carried  into  effect.  The  long 
cart  was  got  out.  An  old  mattress  was  secured,  also  an 
old  bedstead.  The  mattress  happened  to  be  well  aired, 
for,  indeed,  it  was  one  on  which  the  Squire  himself  had 
slept  the  previous  night ;  but,  as  he  remarked,  he  would 
gladly  give  the  bed  from  under  him  for  the  sake  of  his 
old  friend  O'Shanaghgan. 

Molly  helped,  also  Biddy  and  Nora,  in  all  the  prepa- 
rations, and  at  last  the  three  girls  jumped  upon  the  out- 
side car  and  returned  to  O'Shanaghgan.  Biddy  felt  that 
she  was  anything  but  welcome.  She  was  certainly  not 
looking  her  best.  Her  dress  was  of  the  shabbiest,  and 
her  turned-up  nose  looked  more  celestial  than  ever. 
Molly  was  gazing  at  her  just  as  if  she  were  a  sort  of 
curiosity,  and  finally  Biddy  resented  this  close  scrutiny, 
and  turned  to  Nora,  grasping  her  by  the  hand. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Biddy,  "  that  it  is  very  rude  to  stare 
in  that  sort  of  stolid  way.  If  she  were  an  Irish  girl 
she  would  give  a  flashing  glance  and  then  look  away 
again ;  but  that  way  of  staring  full  and  stiff  puts  a  body 
out.     Tell  her  it  is  not  true  Irish  manners." 

"  Oh,  Jehoshaphat !  "  exclaimed  Molly,  "I  hear  you 
both  whispering  together.  What  is  it  all  about?  I  am 
nearly  wild  trying  to  keep  myself  on  this  awful  car,  and 
I  know  you  are  saying  something  not  in  my  favor." 

"  We  are  that,"  cried  Biddy;  "we  are  just  wishing 
you  would  keep  your  English  manners  to  yourself." 


RELEASE   OF   THE   CAPTIVE.  259 

Molly  flushed  rather  indignantly. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  doing  anything,"  she 
said. 

"  Why,  then,"  cried  Biddy,  "  is  it  nothing  when  you  are 
bringing  the  blushes  to  my  cheeks  and  the  palpitation  to 
my  heart;  and  is  it  nothing  to  be,  as  it  were,  exposed  to 
the  scorn  of  the  English  ?  Why,  then,  bedad !  I  have 
got  my  nose  from  the  old  Irish  kings,  from  whom  I  am 
descended,  as  true  as  true.  Blue  is  my  blood,  and  I  am 
as  proud  of  my  ancestry  as  if  I  was  Queen  Victoria  her- 
self. I  see  that  you  have  neat,  straight  features ;  but  you 
have  not  got  a  scrap  of  royal  blood  in  you — now,  have 
you?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  answered  Molly,  laughing  in  spite 
of  herself.  "  Well,  if  it  offends  you,  I  will  try  not  to  look 
at  you  again." 

The  drive  came  to  an  end,  and  Nora  entered  the  big, 
splendidly  furnished  hall,  accompanied  by  Molly  and 
Biddy.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  happened  to  be  standing 
there.     She  came  hurriedly  forward. 

"  My  dear  Nora,"  she  began,  but  then  her  eyes  fell 
upon  Biddy.  Her  brows  went  up  with  a  satirical  action ; 
she  compressed  her  lips  and  kept  back  a  sigh  of  annoy- 
ance. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Murphy?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  fine,  thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,"  replied  Biddy ; 
"  and  it  is  sorry  I  am  that  I  had  not  time  to  change  my 
dress  and  put  on  the  pink  one  with  the  elegant  little 
flounces  that  my  aunt  sent  me  from  Dublin." 

"  Oh,  your  present  dress  will  do  very  well,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan,  suppressing  an  internal  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  Biddy  at  the  renovated  Castle  of  O'Shanagh- 
gan in  her  dirty  pink  dress  with  the  flounces. 

"  But,  Miss  Murphy,"  she  continued,  "  I  am  sorry  that 


260  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

I  cannot  ask  you  to  stay.  The  Squire  is  too  unwell  to 
admit  of  our  having  friends  at  present." 

"  Oh,  glory !  "  cried  Biddy,  "  and  how  am  I  to  get  back- 
again  ?  Why,  it  was  on  your  own  outside  car  that  I  came 
across  country,  and  I  cannot  walk  all  the  way  back  to 
Cronane.  Oh,  but  what  a  truly  beautiful  house !  I  never 
saw  anything  like  it.     Why,  it  is  a  sort  of  palace !  " 

Biddy's  open  admiration  of  the  glories  of  O'Shan- 
aghgan  absolutely  made  the  good  mistress  of  the  mansion 
smile.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  felt  that  Nora  did  not  really 
care  for  the  beautiful  place — the  grandly  furnished  rooms 
had  brought  no  enthusiasm  or  delight  to  her  heart.  Nora 
had  tried  very  hard  to  keep  in  her  real  feelings ;  but  her 
mother  was  quite  sharp  enough  to  know  what  they  were. 
There  was  little  pleasure  in  taking  a  girl  round  rooms, 
corridors,  and  galleries  when  she  was  only  forcing  her- 
self to  say  pretty  things  which  she  did  not  feel.  Molly,  of 
course,  had  always  lived  in  a  beautiful  and  well-fur- 
nished house;  therefore  there  was  nothing  exciting  in 
showing  her  the  present  magnificence  of  O'Shanaghgan, 
and  half  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan's  pleasure  was  showing  the 
place  in  its  now  regal  state  to  her  friends.  Biddy's  re- 
mark, therefore,  was  most  fortunate.  Even  wild,  un- 
kempt, untaught  Irish  Biddy  was  better  than  no  one. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  the  good  lady,  with  quite 
a  gracious  expression  stealing  over  her  features,  "  if  you 
will  promise  to  walk  softly,  and  not  to  make  any  loud 
remarks,  I  will  take  you  through  the  suite  of  drawing 
rooms  and  the  big  dining  room  and  my  morning  room ; 
but  you  must  promise  to  be  very  quiet  if  I  give  you  this 
great  pleasure." 

"  And  it  is  glad  I'll  be,  and  as  mum  as  a  mouse.  I'll 
hold  my  hands  to  my  heart,  and  keep  in  everything;  but, 
oh,  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  if  I  am  fit  to  burst  now  and 


RELEASE   OF   THE   CAPTIVE.  261 

then,  you  will  let  me  run  to  the  window  and  give  a  big 
sigh?  It  is  all  I'll  ask,  to  relieve  myself;  but  mum's  the 
word  for  everything  else." 

On  these  terms  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  conducted  her 
unwelcome  guest  through  the  rooms,  and  after  a  brief 
tour  Biddy  joined  her  companions  in  the  yard.  Nora 
was  busy  sweeping  out  the  barn  herself,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  Hannah  Croneen  and  Molly,  was  already  beginning 
to  put  it  to  rights.  Biddy  was  now  free  to  join  the  other 
conspirators,  and  the  girls  quickly  became  friends  under 
these  conditions. 

Hannah  proved  herself  a  most  valuable  ally.  She 
whisked  about,  dashing  here  and  there,  raising  a  whirl- 
wind of  dust,  but,  in  Nora's  opinion,  effecting  wonders. 
Angus  also  was  drawn  into  the  midst  of  the  fray.  His 
delight  and  approval  of  Nora's  scheme  was  almost  beyond 
bounds. 

"  Ah,  then,"  he  said ;  "  it's  this  will  do  the  masther 
good.  Oh,  then,  Miss  Nora,  it's  you  that  has  the  'cute 
ways." 

A  tarpaulin  was  found  and  laid  upon  the  floor.  From 
Hannah's  cottage  a  small  deal  table  was  fetched.  A 
washstand  was  given  by  Angus ;  a  cracked  basin  and  jug 
were  further  secured ;  and  Nora  gave  implicit  directions 
with  regard  to  the  boiling  of  the  mealy  potatoes  and  the 
little  scrap  of  bacon  on  which  the  Squire  was  to  sup. 

"  You  will  bring  them  in — the  potatoes,  I  mean — in 
their  jackets,"  said  the  Irish  girl,  "  and  have  them  hot  as 
hot  can  be." 

"  They  shall  screech,  that  they  shall,"  replied  Hannah ; 
"  and  the  bacon,  it  shall  be  done  as  tasty  and  sweet  as 
bacon  can  be.  I'll  give  the  last  bit  of  my  own  little  pigeen, 
with  all  the  heart  in  the  world,  for  the  Squire's  supper." 

Accordingly,  when  the  long  cart  arrived  from  Cronane, 


262  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

accompanied  by  the  Squire  and  his  factotum,  Mike,  the 
barn  was  ready  to  receive  the  bedstead,  the  straw  paillasse, 
and  the  mattress.  Xora  managed  to  convey,  from  the 
depths  of  the  Castle,  sheets,  blankets,  pillows,  and  a  coun- 
terpane, and  everything  was  in  apple-pie  order  by  the 
time  the  family  was  supposed  to  assemble  for  afternoon 
tea.  This  was  the  hour  that  Xora  had  selected  for  hav- 
ing the  Squire  removed  from  his  feather-bed  existence 
to  the  more  breezy  life  of  the  barn.  It  was  now  the 
fashion  at  O'Shanaghgan  to  make  quite  a  state  occasion  of 
afternoon  tea.  The  servants,  in  their  grand  livery,  were 
all  well  to  the  fore.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  dressed  as  be- 
came the  lady  of  so  beautiful  a  place,  sat  in  her  lovely 
drawing  room  to  receive  her  guests ;  and  the  guests  came 
up  in  many  conveyances — some  in  carriages,  some  on 
outside  cars,  some  on  dog-carts,  some  on  foot ;  but,  come 
as  they  would,  they  came,  day  after  day,  to  show  their 
respects  to  the  lady  whom  now  the  whole  country  de- 
lighted to  honor. 

On  these  occasions  Mr.  Hartrick  sat  with  his  sister, 
and  helped  her  to  entertain  her  visitors.  It  had  been  one 
of  the  sore  points  between  Xora  and  her  mother  that  the 
former  would  not  appear  to  afternoon  tea.  Xora  had 
made  her  sick  father  her  excuse.  On  the  present  occa- 
sion she  took  good  care  not  even  to  show  her  face  inside 
the  house.  But  Molly  kept  watch,  just  behind  the  planta- 
tion, and  soon  rushed  into  the  yard  to  say  that  the  car- 
riages were  beginning  to  appear. 

"  A  curious  party  have  come  just  now,"  said  Molly, 
"  in  such  a  droll  carriage,  with  yellow  wheels  and  a 
glass  body.  It  looks  like  a  sort  of  a  Lord  Mayor's 
coach." 

"  Why,  it  must  be  the  coach  of  the  O'Rorkes,"  cried 
Xora.     "Fancy  Madam  coming  to  see  mother!     Why, 


RELEASE   OF   THE   CAPTIVE,  263 

Madam  will  scarcely  pay  a  visit  to  royalty  itself.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  mother  is  thought  a  lot  of  now.  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear,  what  a  frightfully  society  life  we  shall 
have  to  lead  here  in  future !  But  I  have  no  time  to  think 
of  mother  and  her  friends  just  now.  Squire,  will  you 
come  upstairs  with  me  to  see  father  ?  Hannah,  please  wait 
down  here  to  be  ready  to  help?  Angus,  you  must  also 
come  upstairs,  and  wait  in  the  passage  outside  the  Squire's 
room  until  I  send  for  you/' 

Having  given  her  directions,  Nora  entered  the  house. 
All  was  quiet  and  peaceful.  The  well-trained  English 
servants  were,  some  of  them,  in  the  kitchen  premises,  and 
some  of  them  attending  in  the  hall  and  drawing  rooms, 
where  the  guests  were  now  arriving  thick  and  fast.  Nora 
had  chosen  her  hour  well.  She  entered  her  father's  room, 
accompanied  by  Squire  Murphy. 

The  old  Squire  was  lying,  half-dozing,  in  his  luxurious 

bed.    The  fire  had  been  recently  built  up.    The  room  felt 

close. 

"  Ah,  dear !  "  said  Squire  Murphy,  "  it  is  difficult  to 

breathe  here!     And  how's  yourself,  O'Shanaghgan,  my 

man  ?    Why,  you  do  look  drawn  and  pulled  down.    I  am 

right  glad  to  see  ye,  that  I  am." 

The  Squire  of  Cronane  grasped  the  hand  of  the  Squire 

of    O'Shanaghgan,    and    the    Squire    of    O'Shanaghgan 

looked  up  at  the  other  man's  weather-beaten  face  with 

a   pathetic   expression   in  his   deep-set,  hawk-like,   dark 

eyes. 

"  I  am  bad,  Murphy — very  bad,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  it's 

killing  me  they  are  amongst  them." 

"  Why,  then,  it  looks  like  it,"  said  Squire  Murphy.    "  I 

never  was  in  such  a  smotheration  of  a  place  before.    Faix, 

then,  why  don't  you  have  the  window  open,  and  have  a 

bit  of  air  circulating  through  the  room  ?  " 


264  LIGHT  0*    THE  MORNING. 

"It's  forbid  I  am,"  said  the  Squire.  "Ah,  Murphy! 
it's  killing  me,  it's  killing  me." 

"  But  it  shall  kill  you  no  longer,  father,"  said  Nora. 
"  Oh,  father !  Squire  Murphy  and  I  have  made  up 
such  a  lovely,  delicious  plan.  What  would  you  say  to  a 
big,  bare  room  again,  father;  and  a  hard  bed  again, 
father;  and  potatoes  and  a  pinch  of  salt  and  a  little  bit 
of  bacon  again,  father  ?  " 

"What  would  I  say?"  cried  the  Squire.  "I'd  say, 
glory  be  to  Heaven,  and  all  the  Saints  be  praised;  but  it 
is  too  good  luck  to  be  true." 

"  Xot  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Squire  Murphy;  "  it  is  going  to 
be  true.  You  just  do  what  you  are  bid,  and  you  will  be 
in  the  hoight  of  contentment." 

The  wonder-stricken  Squire  now  had  to  listen  to  Nora's 
plan. 

"We  have  done  it,"  she  cried,  in  conclusion;  "the 
barn  is  ready.  It  makes  a  lovely  bedroom ;  there  are  no 
end  of  draughts,  and  you'll  get  well  in  a  jiffy." 

"  Then  let's  be  quick,"  said  the  Squire,  "  or  your  lady- 
mother  will  be  up  and  prevent  me.  Hurry,  Nora,  for 
Heaven's  sake !  For  the  life  of  me,  don't  give  me  a  cup 
of  cold  water  to  taste,  and  then  dash  it  from  my  lips.  If 
we  are  not  quick,  we'll  be  caught  and  prevented  from  go- 
ing. I  am  ready ;  wrap  me  up  in  a  rug,  and  carry  me  out. 
I  am  ready  and  willing.  Good-by  to  feather  bed-dom.  I 
don't  want  ever  to  see  these  fal-lals  again." 

The  next  few  moments  were  ones  of  intense  excitement ; 
but  before  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  the  Squire  was  lying 
in  the  middle  of  the  hard  bed,  gazing  round  him  with 
twinkling  eyes  and  a  smile  on  his  lips.  The  appearance 
of  Hannah  Croneen,  with  a  dish  of  steaming  potatoes  and 
a  piece  of  boiled  bacon,  was  the  final  crown  to  his  rapture. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANDY. 

Are  there  any  words  in  the  language  to  describe  the 
scene  which  took  place  at  O'Shanaghgan  when  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan  discovered  what  Nora  had  done?  She 
called  her  brother  to  her  aid ;  and,  visiting  the  barn  in 
her  own  august  person,  her  company  dress  held  neatly 
up  so  as  to  display  her  trim  ankles  and  pretty  shoes, 
solemnly  announced  that  her  daughter  Nora  was  guilty 
of  the  murder  of  her  own  father,  and  that  she,  Mrs. 
O'Shanaghgan,  washed  her  hands  of  her  in  the  future. 

"  Yes,  Nora,"  said  the  irate  lady,  "  you  can  go  your 
own  way  from  this  time.  I  have  done  all  that  a  mother 
could  do  for  you ;  but  your  wildness  and  insubordination 
are  past  bearing.  This  last  and  final  act  crowns  all.  The 
servants  shall  come  into  the  barn,  and  bring  your  poor 
father  back  to  his  bedroom,  and  you  shall  see  nothing  of 
him  again  until  the  doctor  gives  leave.  Pray,  George," 
continued  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  "  send  one  of  the  grooms 
at  once  for  Doctor  Talbot.  I  doubt  if  my  poor  husband 
has  a  chance  of  recovery  after  this  mad  deed;  but  we 
must  take  what  steps  we  can." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Ellen,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  if  you  can't 
be  aisy,  be  as  aisy  as  you  can.  There's  no  sort  of  use  in 
your  putting  on  these  high-falutin  airs.  I  was  born 
an  Irishman.  I  opened  my  eyes  on  this  world  in  a  good, 
sharp  draught,  and,  if  I  am  to  die,  it's  in  a  draught  I'll 
leave  the  world ;  but,  once  for  all,  no  more  smotherations 
for  me.    I've  had  too  much  of  'em.    You  say  this  child 

265 


266  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

is  likely  to  be  the  death  of  me.  Why,  then,  Ellen — God 
forgive  yer  ignorance,  my  poor  wife — but  it's  the  life 
of  me  she'll  be,  not  the  death.  Isn't  it  in  comfort  I'm 
lying  for  the  first  time  since  that  spalpeen  behind  the  hedge 
tried  to  fell  me  to  the  earth?  Isn't  it  a  good  meal  I've 
just  had? — potatoes  in  their  jackets,  and  a  taste  of  fat 
bacon ;  and  if  I  can  wash  it  down,  as  I  mean  to  later  on, 
with  a  drop  of  mountain-dew,  why,  it's  well  I'll  slumber 
to-night.  You're  a  very  fine  woman,  me  lady,  and  I'm 
proud  as  Punch  of  you,  but  you  don't  know  how  to  man- 
age a  wild  Irishman  when  he  is  ill.  Now,  Nora,  bless  her 
pretty  heart,  saw  right  through  and  through  me — the  way 
I  was  being  killed  by  inches ;  the  hot  room  and  the  horrid 
carpets  and  curtains ;  and  the  fire,  not  even  made  of  decent 
turf,  but  those  ugly  black  coals,  and  never  a  draught 
through  the  chamber,  except  when  I  took  it  unbeknownst 
to  you.  Ah,  Nora  guessed  that  her  father  was  dying,  and 
there  was  no  way  of  saving  him  but  doing  it  on  the  sly. 
Well,  I'm  here,  the  girleen  has  managed  it,  and  here  I'll 
stay.  Not  all  the  doctors  in  the  land,  nor  all  the  fine 
English  grooms,  shall  take  me  back  again.  I'll  walk  back 
when  I'm  fit  to  walk,  and  I'll  do  my  best  to  bear  all  that 
awful  furniture ;  but  in  future  this  is  my  bedroom,  and 
now  you  know  the  worst." 

The  Squire  had  a  great  color  in  his  face  as  he  spoke; 
his  eyes  were  shining  as  they  had  not  shone  since  his  ac- 
cident, and  his  voice  was  quite  strong.  Squire  Murphy, 
who  was  standing  near,  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Why,  Patrick,"  he  said,  "  it's  proud  of  you  I  am ; 
you're  like  your  old  self  again — blest  if  you're  not." 

Nora,  who  was  kneeling  by  her  father's  bed,  kept  her 
face  slightly  turned  away  from  her  mother ;  the  tears 
were  in  her  eyes,  but  there  was  a  well  of  thanksgiving  in 
her  heart.    In  spite  of  her  mother's  angry  reproaches,  she 


ANDY.  267 

knew  she  had  done  the  right  thing.  Her  father  would 
get  well  now.  After  all,  his  Irish  daughter  knew  what 
he  wanted,  and  she  must  bear  her  English  mother's  anger. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  two  or  three  of 
the  men-servants  appeared,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Talbot. 
They  stood  in  the  entrance  to  the  barn,  prepared  to  carry 
out  orders ;  but  now  there  stole  past  them  the  Irish  groom, 
Angus,  and  Hannah  Croneen.  These  two  came  and  stood 
near  Nora  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  Dr.  Talbot  examined 
the  patient,  looked  round  the  cheerless  barn,  and  said, 
with  a  smile,  glancing  from  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  to 
O'Shanaghgan's  own  face : 

"  This  will  never  do ;  you  must  get  back  to  your  own 
comfortable  room,  my  dear  sir — that  is,  if  I  am  to  con- 
tinue to  attend  you." 

"  Then,  for  God's  sake,  leave  off  attending  me,  Talbot," 
said  the  Squire.  "  You  must  be  a  rare  ignoramus  not  to 
see  that  your  treatment  is  killing  me  out  and  out.  It's 
fresh  air  I  want,  and  plenty  of  it,  and  no  more  fal-lals.  Is 
it  in  my  grave  you'd  have  me  in  a  fortnight's  time  ?  You 
get  out  of  this,  and  leave  me  to  Mother  Nature  and  the 
nursing  of  my  Irish  colleen." 

This  was  the  final  straw.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  left  the 
barn,  looking  more  erect  and  more  stately  even  than  when 
she  had  entered  it.  Mr.  Hartrick  followed  her,  so  did 
the  enraged  Dr.  Talbot,  and  lastly  the  English  servants. 
Squire  Murphy  uttered  the  one  word,  "  Routed !  "  and 
clapped  his  hand  on  his  thigh. 

The  Squire,  however,  spoke  sadly. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  vex  your  lady  mother,  Nora,"  he  said ; 
"  and  upon  my  soul,  child,  you  must  get  me  well  as  quick 
as  possible.  We  must  prove  to  her  that  we  are  in  the 
right — that  we  must." 

"  Have  a  dhrop  of  the  crayther,  your  honor,"  said 


268  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Hannah,  now  coming  forward.  "  It's  truth  I'm  telling, 
but  this  is  me  very  last  bottle  of  potheen,  which  I  was 
keeping  for  me  funeral ;  but  there,  his  honor's  wilcome  to 
every  drain  of  it." 

"  Pour  me  out  a  little,"  said  the  Squire. 

He  drank  off  the  spirit,  which  was  absolutely  pure  and 
unadulterated,  and  smacked  his  lips. 

"  It's  fine  I'll  be  to-night,"  he  said ;  "  it's  you  that  have 
the  'cute  ways,  Nora.  You  have  saved  me.  But,  indeed, 
I  thank  you  all,  my  friends,  for  coming  to  my  deliv- 
erance." 

That  night,  in  her  smoke-begrimed  cabin,  Hannah 
Croneen  described  with  much  unction  the  way  madam 
and  the  English  doctor  had  been  made  to  know  their 
place,  as  she  expressed  it. 

"  'Twas  himself  that  put  them  down,"  said  Hannah. 
"  Ah,  but  he  is  a  grand  man,  is  O'Shanaghgan." 

Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  spent  a  very  unhappy  night.  Xo 
comfort  could  she  derive  even  from  Air.  Hartrick's  words. 
Nora  was  an  out-and-out  rebel,  and  must  be  treated  ac- 
cordingly ;  and  as  to  the  Squire — well,  when  Nora  at- 
tended his  funeral  her  eyes  might  be  opened.  The  good 
lady  was  quite  certain  that  the  Squire  would  have  devel- 
oped pneumonia  by  the  morning;  but  when  the  reports 
reached  her  that  he  looked  heartier  and  better  than  he  had 
since  his  illness,  she  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  This, 
however,  was  a  fact,  for  Mother  Nature  did  step  in  to 
cure  the  Squire ;  and  the  draughty  barn,  with  its  lack  of 
even'  ordinary  comfort,  was  so  soothing  to  his  soul  that 
it  began  to  have  an  equally  good  effect  upon  his  body. 
Notwithstanding  that  it  poured  rain  outside,  and  that 
great  eddies  of  wind  came  from  under  the  badly-fitting 
doors  and  in  at  the  cracks  of  the  small  windows,  the 
Squire  ate  his  food  with  appetite,  and  began  rncc  again 


ANDY.  269 

to  enjoy  life.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  no  longer  lonely. 
It  was  impossible  for  his  old  friends  and  retainers  to 
visit  him  in  the  solitude  of  his  grand  bedroom ;  but  it  was 
perfectly  easy,  not  only  for  Squire  Murphy  and  Squire 
Fitzgerald,  and  half  the  other  squireens  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, to  slip  into  the  barn  and  have  a  "  collogue,"  as 
they  expressed  it;  but  also  the  little  gossoons  in  their 
ragged  trousers  and  bare  feet,  and  the  girleens,  with  their 
curly  hair,  and  roguish  dark-blue  eyes,  to  scuttle  in  also. 
For  could  they  not  dart  under  the  bed  like  so  many  rab- 
bits if  madam's  step  was  heard,  and  didn't  the  Squire, 
bless  him !  like  to  have  them  with  him  when  madam  was 
busy  with  her  English  friends?  Then  Nora  herself,  the 
darling  of  his  heart,  was  scarcely  ever  away  from  him 
now.  Didn't  she  sit  perched  like  a  bird  on  the  foot  of  the 
hard  bed  and  cause  him  to  roar  with  laughter  as  she  de- 
scribed the  English  and  their  ways?  Molly,  too,  became 
a  prime  favorite  with  the  Squire.  It  is  sad  to  relate  that 
he  encouraged  her  in  her  naughty  words,  and  she  began 
to  say  "  Jehoshaphat !  "  and  "  Elephants  !  "  and  "  Holy 
Moses !  "  more  frequently  than  ever. 

The  grand  fact  of  all,  however,  was  this:  the  Squire 
was  getting  well  again. 

About  a  week  after  his  removal  to  the  barn  Nora  was 
out  rather  late  by  herself.  She  had  been  visiting  her  fa- 
vorite haunts  by  the  seashore,  and  was  returning  laden 
with  seaweeds  and  shells,  when  she  was  startled  by  hear- 
ing her  name  spoken  in  a  low  tone  just  behind  her.  The 
sound  issued  from  a  plantation  of  thick  underwood.  The 
girl  paused,  and  her  heart  beat  a  little  faster. 

"Yes.     What  is  it?"  she  said. 

The  next  moment  a  long  and  skinny  hand  and  arm 
were  protruded,  Nora's  own  arm  was  forcibly  taken  pos- 
session of,  and  she  was  dragged,  against  her  will,  into 


27°  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

the  underwood.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  cry  out ;  but  be- 
ing as  brave  a  girl  as  ever  walked,  she  quickly  suppressed 
this  inclination,  and  turned  and  faced  the  ragged  and 
starved-looking  man  whom  she  expected  to  meet. 

"  Yes,  Andy,  I  knew  it  was  you,"  said  Nora.  "  What 
do  you  want  with  me  now  ?    Howr  dare  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  How  dare  I !  What  do  you  mane  by  that,  Miss 
Nora  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  answered  the  girl.  "  Oh, 
I  have  been  patient  and  have  not  said  a  word ;  but  do  you 
think  I  did  not  know?  When  all  the  country,  Andy 
Neil,  were  looking  for  my  father's  would-be  murderer, 
I  knew  where  I  could  put  my  hand  on  him.  But  I  did 
not  say  a  word.  If  my  father  had  died  I  must — I  must 
have  spoken ;  but  if  he  recovered,  I  felt  that  in  me  which 
I  cannot  describe  as  pity,  but  which  yet  prevented  my 
giving  you  up  to  the  justice  you  deserve.  But  to  meet 
me  here,  to  dare  to  waylay  me — it  is  too  much." 

"  Ah,  when  you  speak  like  that  you  near  madden  me," 
replied  Andy.  "  Look  at  me,  Miss  Nora ;  look  well ;  look 
hard.  Here's  the  skin  tight  on  me  arums,  and  stretched  fit 
to  burst  over  me  cheek-bones ;  and  it's  empty  I  am,  Miss 
Nora,  for  not  a  bite  nor  sup  have  I  tasted  for  twenty-four 
hours.  The  neighbors,  they  'as  took  agen  me.  It  has  got 
whispering  abroad  that  it's  meself  handled  the  gun  that 
laid  the  Squire  on  what  might  have  been  his  deathbed, 
and  they  have  turned  agen  me,  and  not  even  a  pitaty  can 
I  get  from  'em,  and  I  can't  get  work  nowhere ;  and  the 
roof  is  took  off  the  little  bit  of  a  cabin  in  which  I  was 
born,  and  two  of  the  childers  have  died  from  cowld  and 
hunger.  That's  my  portion,  Miss  Nora;  that's  my  bitter 
portion ;  and  yet  you  ashk  me,  miss,  why  I  spake  to  ye." 

'*  You  know  why  I  said  it,"  answered  Nora.  "  There 
was  a  time  when  I  pitied  you,  but  not  now.     You  have 


ANDY.  271 

gone  too  far ;  you  have  done  that  which  no  daughter  can 
overlook.  Let  me  go — let  me  go ;  don't  attempt  to  touch 
me,  or  I  shall  scream  out.  There  are  neighbors  near  who 
will  come  to  my  help." 

"  No,  there  are  not,"  said  Andy.  "  I  'as  took  good 
care  of  that.  You  may  scream  as  loud  as  you  please,  but 
no  one  will  hear ;  and  if  we  go  farther  into  the  underwood 
no  one  will  see.  Come,  my  purty  miss ;  it's  my  turn  now. 
It's  my  turn  at  last.    Come  along." 

Nora  was  strong  and  fearless,  but  she  had  not  Andy's 
brute  strength.  With  a  clutch,  now  so  fierce  and  desper- 
ate that  she  wondered  her  arm  was  not  broken,  the  man, 
who  was  half  a  madman,  dragged  her  deeper  into  the 
shade  of  the  underwood. 

"  There  now,"  said  Andy,  with  a  chuckle  of  triumph ; 
"  you  has  got  to  listen.  You're  the  light  o'  his  eyes  and 
the  darlin'  o'  his  heart.  But  what  o'  that?  Didn't  my 
childer  die  of  the  cowld  and  the  hunger,  and  the  want  of 
a  roof  over  them,  and  didn't  I  love  them  ?  Ah !  that  I 
did.  Do  you  remember  the  night  I  said  I'd  drown  ye  in 
the  Banshee's  pool,  and  didn't  we  make  a  compact  that 
if  I  let  ye  go  you'd  get  the  Squire  to  lave  me  my  bit  of 
a  cabin,  and  not  to  evict  me  ?  And  how  did  ye  kape  your 
word  ?    Ah,  my  purty,  how  did  ye  kape  your  word  ?  " 

"  I  did  my  best  for  you,"  said  Nora. 

"  Yer  bhest.  A  poor  bhest  when  I've  had  to  go.  But 
now,  Miss  Nora,  I  aint  waylaid  you  for  nothin'.  The 
masther  has  escaped  this  time,  and  you  has  escaped ;  but 
as  shure  as  there  is  a  God  in  heav'n,  if  you  don't  get 
Squire  to  consint  to  let  me  go  back,  there'll  be  mischief. 
There  now,  Miss  Nora,  I've  spoken.  You're  purty,  and 
you're  swate,  and  'tis  you  has  got  a  tinder  heart ;  but  that 
won't  do  you  no  good,  for  I'm  mad  with  misery.  It's  me 
bit  of  a  cabin  I  want  to  die  in,  and  nothing  less  will  contint 


272  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

me.  You  may  go  back  now,  for  I've  said  what  I  come  to 
say ;  but  it's  to-morrow  night  I'll  be  here  waiting  for  ye, 
and  I  warn  ye  to  bring  me  the  consint  that  I  crave,  for 
if  you  don't  come,  be  the  powers!  ye'll  find  that  you've 
played  with  fire  when  you  neglected  Andy  Neil." 

Having  uttered  these  words,  the  miserable  man  dropped 
Xora's  arm  and  vanished  into  the  depths  of  the  planta- 
tion. Xora  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  returned 
thoughtfully  and  slowly  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   CABIN   ON   THE   MOUNTAIN. 

Nora  slept  little  that  night.  She  had  a  good  deal  to 
think  of,  and  very  anxious  were  her  thoughts.  She  knew 
the  Irishman,  Andy  Neil,  well,  and  she  also  knew  his  fero- 
cious and  half-savage  temperament.  Added  to  his  natural 
fierceness  of  character,  he  now  undoubtedly  was  pos- 
sessed by  temporary  insanity.  This  had  been  brought  on 
by  hunger,  cold,  and  great  misery.  The  man  was  desper- 
ate, and  would  think  little  of  desperate  deeds.  After  all, 
his  life  was  of  small  value  to  him  compared  to  his  re- 
venge. Whenever  did  an  Irishman,  at  moments  like  the 
present,  consider  life?  Revenge  came  first,  and  there 
was  that  in  the  man's  gleaming  dark  eyes,  in  his  high 
cheek-bones,  in  his  wild,  unkempt,  starved  appearance, 
which  showed  that  he  would,  if  something  was  not 
quickly  done,  once  again  attempt  the  Squire's  life.  What 
was  she  to  do?  Nora  wondered  and  wondered.  Her 
father  was  getting  better;  the  open  air  treatment,  the 
simple  food,  and  the  company  of  his  friends  were  effecting 
the  cure  which  the  luxurious  life  in  the  heavily  furnished 
chamber  had  failed  to  do.  The  Squire  would  soon  be  well 
and  strong  again.  If  he  were  careful,  he  would  once  again 
stand  in  health  and  strength  on  his  ancestral  acres. 

He  would  get  accustomed  to  the  grandeur  of  the  re- 
stored Castle  O'Shanaghgan ;  he  would  get  accustomed  to 
his  English  relatives  and  their  ways.  He  would  have  his 
barn  to  retire  to  and  his  friends  to  talk  to,  and  he  would 
still  be  the  darling,  the  best-loved  of  all,  to  his  daughter 

273 


274  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Nora ;  but  at  the  present  moment  he  was  in  danger.  In 
the  barn,  too,  he  was  in  much  greater  danger  than  he  had 
been  when  in  the  safe  seclusion  of  the  Castle.  It  would 
be  possible  for  any  one  to  creep  up  to  the  barn  at  night, 
to  push  open  the  somewhat  frail  windows  or  equally  frail 
door,  and  to  accomplish  that  deed  which  had  already 
been  attempted.  Nora  knew  well  that  she  must  act,  she 
must  do  something — what,  was  the  puzzle.  Squire 
O'Shanaghgan  was  one  of  the  most  generous,  open- 
hearted,  and  affectionate  of  men.  His  generosity  was 
proverbial ;  he  was  a  prime  favorite  with  his  tenants ;  but 
he  had,  like  many  another  Irishman  of  his  type,  a  certain 
hard  phase  in  his  character — he  could,  on  occasions,  be 
almost  cruel.  He  had  taken  a  great  dislike  to  Andy  Neil 
and  to  some  other  tenants  of  his  class ;  he  had  been  roused 
to  stronger  feeling  by  their  open  resistance,  and  had  de- 
clared that  not  all  the  Land  Leagues  in  Ireland,  not  all 
the  Fenians,  not  all  the  Whiteboys,  were  they  banded  to- 
gether in  one  great  insurrection,  should  frighten  him  from 
his  purpose. 

Those  tenants  who  defied  him,  who  refused  to  pay  the 
scanty  rent  which  he  asked  for  their  humble  cabins,  should 
go  out ;  they  should,  in  short,  be  evicted.  The  other  men 
had  submitted  to  the  Squire's  iron  dictation.  They  had 
struggled  to  put  their  pence  and  shillings  together,  and 
with  some  difficulty  had  met  the  question  of  the  rent;  but 
Andy  Neil  either  could  not  or  would  not  pay ;  and  the 
Squire  had  got  the  law,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  evict  the 
man.  There  had  come  a  day  when  the  wild  tenant  of 
the  little  cabin  on  the  side  of  the  bare  mountain  had  come 
home  to  find  his  household  goods  exposed  to  the  airs  of 
heaven,  the  roof  off  his  cabin,  the  door  removed  from  its 
hinges;  the  hearth,  it  is  true,  still  warm  with  the  ashes 
of  the   sods  of  turf  which   were  burning  there   in  the 


THE    CABIN  ON   THE  MOUNTAIN.  275 

morning,  but  the  whole  home  a  ruin.  The  Squire  had 
not  himself  witnessed  this  scene  of  desolation,  but  had 
given  his  stern  orders,  and  they  had  been  executed  by 
his  agent.  When  Andy  saw  the  ruins  of  his  home  he  gave 
one  wild  howl  and  rushed  down  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
His  sick  children — there  were  two  of  them  in  the  cabin 
at  the  time — had  been  taken  pity  on  by  some  neighbors 
almost  as  poor  as  himself ;  but  the  shock  (or  perhaps  their 
own  bad  health)  had  caused  the  death  of  both  boys,  and 
the  man  was  now  homeless  and  childless.  No  wonder  his 
brain  gave  way.  He  vowed  vengeance.  Vengeance  was 
the- one  last  thing  left  to  him  in  life;  he  would  revenge 
his  wrongs  or  die.  So,  waiting  his  opportunity,  he  had 
crouched  behind  a  hedge,  and,  with  an  old  gun  which 
he  had  stolen  from  a  neighbor,  had  fired  at  the  Squire. 
In  the  crucial  moment,  however,  his  hand  shook,  and  the 
shot  had  lodged,  not  in  the  Squire's  body,  but  in  his  leg, 
causing  a  nasty  but  scarcely  a  dangerous  wound.  The 
only  one  in  all  the  world  who  suspected  Andy  was  the 
Squire's  daughter  Nora ;  but  it  was  easy  for  her  to  put 
two  and  two  together.  The  man's  words  to  her  in  the 
cave,  when  he  threatened  to  drown  her,  returned  to  her 
memory.  She  suspected  him;  but,  with  an  Irish  girl's 
sympathy,  she  would  not  speak  of  her  suspicions — that  is, 
if  her  father's  life  was  spared. 

But  now  the  man  himself  had  come  to  her  and  threat- 
ened fresh  mischief.  She  hated  to  denounce  the  poor, 
starved  creature  to  the  police,  and  yet  she  must  protect 
her  father.  The  Squire  was  much  better ;  but  his  temper 
could  be  roused  to  great  fury  at  times,  and  Nora  dreaded 
to  mention  the  subject  of  Andy  Neil.  She  guessed  only 
too  well  that  fear  would  not  influence  the  fierce  old  Squire 
to  give  the  man  back  his  cabin.  The  one  thing  the 
wretched   creature   now   craved   was   to   die   under   the 


276  LIGHT  O'    THE  MORNING. 

shelter  of  the  roof  where  he  had  first  seen  the  light;  but 
this  natural  request,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  Squire 
himself,  under  altered  circumstances,  would  not  weigh 
with  him  under  existing  conditions.  The  mere  fact  that 
Andy  still  threatened  him  would  make  him  more  deter- 
mined than  ever  to  stick  to  his  purpose.  Nora  did  not 
dare  to  give  her  father  even  a  hint  with  regard  to  the 
hand  which  had  fired  that  shot;  and  yet,  and  yet — oh, 
God  help  her !  she  must  do  something,  or  the  consequences 
might  be  too  fearful  to  contemplate. 

As  she  was  dressing  on  the  following  morning  she 
thought  hard,  and  the  idea  came  to  her  to  take  the  matter 
into  her  own  hands,  and  herself  give  Andy  leave  to  go 
back  to  his  cabin;  but,  on  reflection,  she  found  that  this 
would  be  no  easy  matter,  for  the  cabins  from  which  the 
tenants  were  evicted  were  often  guarded  by  men  whose 
business  it  was  to  prevent  the  wretched  creatures  return- 
ing to  them.  Xo  doubt  Andy's  cabin  would  be  now  inac- 
cessible ;  still,  she  might  go  and  look  at  it,  and,  if  all  other 
means  failed,  might  venture  to  beg  of  her  father's  agent 
to  let  the  man  return  to  it ;  but  first  of  all  she  would  see 
the  place.  Somewhat  cheered  as  this  determination  came 
to  her,  she  ran  downstairs.  Mr.  Hartrick  was  returning 
to  England  by  an  early  train,  and  the  carriage,  which 
was  to  convey  him  to  the  station,  was  already  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  almost  tearful  at  the  thought 
of  parting  with  her  beloved  brother.  Molly,  delighted  at 
being  allowed  to  stay  on  at  the  Castle,  was  also  present ; 
but  Xora's  entrance  on  the  scene  caused  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan to  speak  fretfully. 

"  Late  as  usual,  Xora,"  said  that  lady,  turning  and 
facing  her  daughter  as  she  appeared.  "  I  am  glad  that 
you  condescended  to  appear  before  your  uncle  starts  for 
England.     I  wonder  that  you  have  taken  the  trouble.'5 


THE   CABIN  ON   THE  MOUNTAIN.  277 

"  Oh,  do  not  scold  her,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick, 
kindly.  "  I  begin  to  understand  something  of  the  nature 
of  my  Irish  niece.  When  the  Squire  is  well  again  she 
will,  I  am  sure,  return  to  England  and  resume  her  studies ; 
but  at  present  we  can  scarcely  expect  her  to  do  so." 

"  I  will  come  back  some  time,  Uncle  George,"  said 
Nora;  "and  oh!"  she  added,  "I  do  thank  you  for  all 
your  great  and  real  kindness.  I  may  appear  ungrateful, 
but  indeed,  indeed  I  am  not  so  in  my  heart,  and  it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  allow  Molly  to  stay ;  and  I  will  promise 
to  take  great  care  of  her,  and  not  to  let  her  get  too  wild." 

"  Thank  you.  Any  message  for  your  aunt,  Nora  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Hartrick  gravely.  "  I  should  like  you,  my  dear," 
he  added,  coming  up  to  the  girl,  and  laying  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder  and  looking  with  his  kind  eyes  into  her  face, 
"  to  send  your  Aunt  Grace  a  very  special  message ;  for 
you  did  try  her  terribly,  Nora,  when  you  not  only  ran 
away  yourself,  but  induced  Molly  to  accompany  you." 

Nora  hesitated  for  a  moment,  the  color  flamed  into  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  grew  very  bright. 

"  Tell  her,  Uncle  George,"  she  said,  speaking  slowly 
and  with  great  emphasis,  "  that  I  did  what  I  did  for 
father.  Tell  her  that  for  no  one  else  but  father  would  I 
hurt  her,  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me  just  because  I  am 
an  Irish  girl ;  and  I  love — oh  !  I  love  my  father  so  dearly." 

"  I  will  take  her  your  message,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Hartrick,  and  then  he  stooped  and  kissed  his  niece. 

A  moment  later  he  was  about  to  step  into  the  carriage, 
when  Nora  rushed  up  to  him. 

"  Good-by ;  God  bless  you !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  how 
kind  you  have  been,  and  how  I  love  you !  Please,  please, 
do  not  misunderstand  me;  I  have  many  cares  and  anx- 
ieties at  present  or  I  would  say  more.  You  have  done 
splendidly,  only " 


278  LIGHT  0'    THE   MORNING. 

"Only  what,  Nora?"  said  her  uncle. 

"  Only,  Uncle  George,"  answered  the  girl,  "  you  have 
done  what  you  have  done  to  please  my  mother,  and  you 
have  done  it  all  in  the  English  way ;  and  oh !  the  English 
way  is  very  fine,  and  very  noble,  and  very  generous ;  but 
— but  we  did  want  the  old  bare  rooms  and  the  lack  of  fur- 
niture, and  the  place  as  it  always  has  been ;  but  we  could 
not  expect — I  mean  father  and  I  could  not  expect — you 
and  mother  to  remember  that." 

"  It  was  impossible,  Nora,"  said  her  uncle.  "  What 
I  did  I  did,  as  you  express  it,  my  dear,  in  the  English 
way.  The  retrograde  movement,  Nora,  could  not  be  ex- 
pected from  an  Englishman ;  and  by-and-by  you,  at  least, 
will  thank  me  for  having  brought  civilization  to  O'Shan- 
aghgan." 

A  moment  later  Mr.  Hartrick  went  away,  and  Nora  re- 
turned to  the  house.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  had  left  the 
room,  and  Nora  found  herself  alone  with  her  cousin 
Molly. 

"What  is  it,  Nora?"  said  Molly.  "  You  look  quite 
pale  and  anxious." 

"  I  look  what  I  feel,"  said  Nora. 

"  But  can  I  help  you  in  any  way,  Nora?  " 

"  Yes.  Will  vou  come  for  a  drive  with  me  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Of  course  I  will.  You  know  well  that  I  should  like 
nothing  better." 

"  Then,  Molly  dear,  run  round  to  the  yard  and  tell 
Angus  put  Black  Bess  to  the  outside  car,  and  to  bring  it 
round  to  the  corner  of  the  plantation.  I  do  not  want  any 
one  to  know,  and  tell  Angus  that  I  will  drive  Black  Bess 
myself." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Molly,  running  off  on  her  errand. 

Nora  did  not  stay  long  with  her  father  that  morning, 


THE   CABIN  ON   THE  MOUNTAIN.  279 

and  soon  after  ten  o'clock  she  and  Molly  were  flying 
through  the  boreens  and  winding  roads  in  the  direction 
of  Slieve  Nagorna.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  they 
dismounted.  Nora  fastened  Black  Bess's  reins  to  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  which  stood  near,  and  then  she  and  Molly 
began  to  ascend  the  mountain.  It  was  a  glorious  winter's 
day ;  the  air  was  mild,  as  it  generally  is  in  the  west  of 
Ireland,  and  the  sun  shone  with  power.  Nora  and  Molly 
walked  quickly.  Nora,  who  was  accustomed  to  climbing 
from  her  earliest  years,  scaled  the  rocks,  and  jumped 
from  one  tiny  projection  in  the  ground  to  another;  but 
Molly  found  her  ascent  more  difficult.  She  was  soon  out 
of  breath,  and  called  in  laughing  tones  to  Nora  to  wait 
for  her. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Nora ;  "  I  sometimes  forget  that 
you  are  not  an  Irish  girl." 

"  You  also  forget  that  I  am  practically  a  London  girl," 
answered  Molly.  "  I  have  seldom  or  never  climbed  even 
a  respectable  hill,  far  less  a  mountain  with  sides  like 
this  one." 

"  We  will  reach  the  spot  which  I  am  aiming  for  before 
long,"  said  Nora ;  "  but  if  you  are  tired,  do  sit  down,  and 
I'll  go  on  alone." 

This,  however,  Molly  would  not  hear  of,  and  presently 
the  girls  reached  a  spot  where  once  a  small  cabin  had 
stood.  The  walls  of  the  cabin  were  still  there,  but  the 
thatched  roof  had  disappeared,  the  doors  and  windows 
had  been  removed,  and  the  blackened  earth  where  the 
hearth  had  been  alone  bore  evidence  to  the  fact  that 
fires  had  been  burnt  there  for  long  generations.  But  there 
was  no  fire  now  on  the  desolate  hearth. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Nora.  "  It  makes  me  cry  to  look 
at  the  place.  Once,  long,  long  ago,  when  Tern-  and  I 
were  tiny  children,  we  came  up  here.     Andy's  wife  was 


280  LIGHT  0"    THE  MORNING. 

alive  then,  and  she  gave  us  a  hot  potato  each  and  a  pinch 
of  salt.  We  ate  the  potatoes  just  here,  and  how  good 
they  tasted !  Little  Mike  was  a  baby,  such  a  pretty  little 
boy,  and  dear  Kathleen  was  so  proud  of  him.  Oh !  it  was 
a  home  then,  whereas  now  it  is  a  desolation." 

"  A  very  poor  sort  of  home  I  should  say,"  answered 
Molly.  "  What  a  truly  desolate  place !  If  anybody  ever 
lived  here,  that  person  must  be  glad  to  have  got  away. 
It  makes  me  shudder  even  to  think  of  any  human  being 
calling  this  spot  a  home." 

"  Oh !  "  answered  Nora,  "  it  was  a  very  pretty  home, 
and  the  one  who  lived  in  it  is  broken-hearted — nay,  more, 
he  is  almost  crazed,  all  and  entirely  because  he  has  been 
driven  away.  He  deserved  it,  I  know ;  but  it  has  gone 
very  hard  with  him ;  it  has  torn  out  his  heart ;  it  has 
turned  him  from  a  man  into  a  savage.  Oh !  if  I  had  only 
money,  would  not  I  build  up  these  walls,  and  put  back 
the  roof,  and  light  the  fire  once  more,  and  put  the  man 
who  used  to  have  this  house  as  a  home  back  again?  He 
would  die  in  peace  then.    Oh  !  if  only,  only  I  had  money." 

"  How  queer  you  look  !  "  said  Molly.  "  How  your  eyes 
shine!  I  don't  understand  you.  I  love  you  very  much, 
but  I  confess  I  don't  understand  you.  Why,  this  desolate 
spot  would  drive  most  people  mad." 

"  But  not  Irish  people  who  were  born  here,"  said  Xora. 
"  There !  I  have  seen  what  I  wanted  to  see,  and  we  had 
best  be  going  back.  I  want  to  drive  to  the  village,  and  I 
want  to  see  John  Finnigan.  I  hope  I  shall  find  him  at 
home." 

"Who  is  John  Finnigan?"  asked  Molly. 

"  The  man  who  docs  these  sort  of  things,"  said  Xora, 
the  red,  angry  blood  rushing  to  her  cheeks. 

She  turned  and  quickly  walked  down  the  mountain. 
Molly  racing  and  stumbling  after  her.     Black  Bess  was 


THE   CABIN  ON    THE  MOUNTAIN.  281 

standing  motionless  where  her  mistress  had  placed  her. 
Nora  unfastened  the  reins  and  sprang  upon  the  car,  Molly 
followed  her  example,  and  they  drove  almost  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind  back  to  the  village.  There  they  were 
fortunate  enough  to  find  John  Finnigan.  Leaving  Molly 
holding  Black  Bess's  reins,  Nora  went  into  the  house.  It 
was  a  very  small  and  shabby  house,  furnished  in  Irish 
style,  and  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Finnigan,  a  very  stout, 
untidy,  and  typical  Irishwoman,  with  all  the  good  nature 
and  savoir-faire  of  her  countrywomen. 

"  Aw,  then,  Miss  Nora,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you.     And  how's  the  Squire?" 

"  Much  better,  thank  you,"  said  Nora.  "  Is  your  hus- 
band in,  Mrs.  Finnigan  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  deary.  Finnigan's  abed  still.  He  was 
out  late  last  night.  Why,  listen ;  you  can  hear  him  snor- 
ing; the  partition  is  thin.  He  snores  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  all  over  the  house." 

"  Well,  do  wake  him,  please,  Mrs.  Finnigan,"  said 
Nora.  "  I  want  to  see  him  on  a  most  important  matter 
at  once." 

"  Then,  that  being  the  case,  honey,  you  just  step  into 
the  parlor  while  I  go  and  get  Finnigan  to  rise  and  dress 
himself." 

Mrs.  Finnigan  threw  open  the  door  of  a  very  untidy 
and  small  room.  Several  children  were  having  breakfast 
by  a  table  which  bore  traces  of  fish-bones,  potato-peel- 
ings, and  bacon-rinds.  The  children  wrere  untidy,  like 
their  mother,  but  had  the  bright,  very  dark-blue  eyes  and 
curly  hair  of  their  country.  Nora  knew  them  all,  and 
was  soon  in  the  midst  of  a  clamorous  group,  while  Mrs. 
Finnigan  went  out  to  get  her  husband  to  rise.  Finnigan 
himself  appeared  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  Nora 
went  with  him  into  his  little  study. 


282  LIGHT  Oy    THE  MORNING. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  that  worthy,  "  and  what  can  I  do 
for  you,  Miss  O'Shanaghgan  ?  " 

Xora  looked  very  earnest  and  pleading. 

"  My  father  is  better,"  she  said,  "  but  not  well  enough 
yet  to  be  troubled  with  business.  I  understand  that  you 
are  doing  some  of  his  business  for  him,  Mr.  Finnigan." 

"  Some,  it  is  true,"  answered  the  gentleman,  frowning 
as  he  spoke,  "  but  not  all,  by  no  means  all.  Since  that 
English  fine  gentleman,  Mr.  Hartrick,  came  over,  he  has 
put  the  bulk  of  the  property  into  the  hands  of  Steward  of 
Glen  Lee.  Steward  is  a  Scotchman,  and  why  he  should 
get  work  which  is  rightly  my  due  is  hard  on  me,  Miss 
Nora — very  hard  on  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Nora  restlessly,  "  I  know  nothing  about 
the  matter.  I  am  sorry ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  powerless 
to  interfere."" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Nora !  "  said  Finnigan,  "  you  know  very 
well  that  you  have  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone,  and  that 
no  one  can  resist  you.  If  you  were  to  say  a  word  to 
the  Squire  he  would  give  me  my  due ;  and  now  that  so 
much  money  has  been  put  into  O'Shanaghgan,  it  would  be 
a  very  fine  thing  for  me  to  have  the  collecting  of  the  rents. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  Miss  Nora,  and  this  business  ought  not 
to  be  given  over  my  head  to  a  stranger." 

"  I  will  speak  to  father  by-and-by,"  said  Nora;  "but 
I  doubt  if  I  can  do  anything.  But  I  have  come  today  to 
ask  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  And  what  is  that,  Miss  Nora?  I  am  sure  I'd  be  proud 
to  help  such  a  beautiful  young  lady  in  any  way." 

"  I  dislike  compliments,"  said  Nora,  coloring  with  an- 
noyance. "  Please  listen.  You  know  the  man  you  evicted 
from  the  cabin  on  the  side  of  Slieve  Nagorna — Andy 
Neil  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well,  perfectly  well,"  answered   Finnigan. 


THE   CABIN  ON   THE  MOUNTAIN.  283 

"  You  had  my  father's  orders  ?  " 

"I  had  that,  Miss  Nora." 

"  I  want  you,  Mr.  Finnigan,  now  to  take  my  orders  and 
to  give  Andy  back  his  cabin.  Put  a  bit  of  roof  over  it — 
anything,  even  an  old  tarpaulin — anything,  so  that  he 
may  sleep  there  if  he  likes  to-night.  I  want  you  to  do 
this  for  me,  and  allow  me  to  take  the  risk  of  offending  my 
father." 

"  What !  "  said  Finnigan,  "  and  risk  myself  all  chance 
of  getting  the  agency.  No,  no,  Miss  Nora.  Besides, 
what  would  all  the  other  tenants  say  who  have  been  evicted 
in  their  time?  The  man  shall  get  his  cabin  back  and  a 
fresh  roof  and  new  windows,  by  the  same  token,  when  he 
pays  his  rent,  and  not  before." 

"  But  he  has  no  money  to  pay  his  rent." 

"  Then  he  must  stay  out,  Miss  Nora." 

"  I  wish,  I  wish,"  said  Nora,  clasping  her  hands  and 
speaking  with  passion,  "  that  you  would  oblige  me  in 
this.     Indeed,  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance." 

"  What !  "  said  Finnigan,  going  up  to  her  and  staring 
into  her  face ;  "  has  that  scoundrel  threatened  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible?" 

"  No,  no,  no;  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Nora  eagerly. 
"  I  only  meant  that  I — I — pitied  him  so  much." 

"  That  being  the  case,  Miss  Nora,  I  will  say  nothing 
further.  But  the  fact  is,  I  have  before  had  my  suspicions 
as  to  the  hand  which  pulled  that  trigger  which  sent  the 
shot  into  the  Squire's  leg,  and  it  would  be  an  extremely 
graceful  act  on  my  part  to  have  that  person  arrested, 
and  would  doubtless  insure  the  agency  for  me.  But  I 
will  say  no  more ;  only,  please  understand,  under  no  cir- 
cumstances, except  the  payment  of  the  rent,  can  Andy 
Neil  g§t  back  his  cabin." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A   DARING   DEED. 

Having  failed  to  get  any  help  from  John  Finnigan, 
Nora  returned  to  the  Castle.  As  she  drove  quickly  home 
she  was  very  silent.  Even  loquacious  Molly  did  not  care 
to  interrupt  her  thoughts.  As  soon  as  they  reached  the 
Castle  she  turned  to  her  cousin  and  spoke  quickly. 

"  Go  to  the  barn  and  look  after  father,  Molly.  Talk 
as  many  naughty  words  as  ever  you  like;  make  him 
laugh ;  keep  him  occupied.  After  dinner  I  shall  probably 
want  your  aid  again.  In  the  meantime  you  will  help  me 
best  by  taking  father  off  my  hands." 

"  And  I  desire  nothing  better,"  answered  Molly.  "  I 
love  the  Squire;  it  is  the  height  of  entertainment,  as  he 
would  call  it,  to  talk  to  him." 

Molly  accordingly  ran  off.  The  Squire  was  now  well 
enough  to  sit  up  in  a  great  easy-chair  made  of  straw, 
which  had  been  carted  over  from  Cronane  for  his  special 
benefit,  for  the  padded  and  velvet-covered  chairs  of  the 
Castle  would  not  at  all  have  suited  his  inclinations.  He 
sat  back  in  the  depths  of  his  chair,  which  creaked  at  his 
every  movement,  and  laughed  long  and  often  at  Molly's 
stories. 

"  But  where's  Light  o'  the  Morning  herself?  "  he  said 
after  a  pause.  "  Why  don't  she  come  to  visit  her  old 
father?    Why,  it's  craving  for  a  sight  of  her  I  am." 

"  I  think  Nora  is  very  busy  to-day,"  answered  Molly. 
"  May  I  read  the  paper  to  you,  Squire  ?  " 

284 


A   DARING  DEED.  285 

"  You  read  the  paper  to  me  ? "  answered  Squire 
O'Shanaghgan.  "  Why,  bless  yer  little  heart,  my  pretty 
girleen,  but  I  must  decline  with  thanks.  It  is  perfect 
torture  to  listen  to  your  English  accent  when  you  are  try- 
ing to  do  the  rich  Irish  brogue.  Irish  papers  should  be 
read  by  Irish  colleens,  and  then  you  get  the  flavor.  But 
what  did  you  say  my  colleen  was  after — business,  is  it? 
She's  very  fond  of  poking  that  little  finger  of  hers  into 
other  people's  pies.    What  is  she  after  now  at  all,  at  all?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  answered  Molly,  coloring  slightly 
as  she  spoke. 

The  Squire  looked  annoyed  and  suspicious. 

"  You  go  and  call  her  to  me,"  he  said.  "  Tell  her  to 
come  along  this  blessed  minute ;  say  it's  wanting  her 
I  am." 

Molly  ran  out  of  the  barn.  She  found  Nora  in  earnest 
conversation  with  Angus,  while  Hannah  Croneen  stood 
close  by  plucking  now  and  then  at  the  girl's  skirt,  looking 
eagerly  into  her  face,  and  uttering  such  ejaculations  as 
"  Oh,  glory !  "  "  Be  the  powers !  "  "  Did  ye  ever  hear 
the  like?  "  "  Well,  well,  that  beats  all!  " 

"  Nora,"  said  Molly,  "  will  you  go  to  your  father?  He 
wants  you  immediately." 

"  Have  you  let  out  anything?  "  said  Nora,  turning  and 
looking  anxiously  at  Molly. 

"  No ;  but  he  asked  after  you,  and  I  said  you  were  busy. 
The  Squire  said  then,  '  I  hope  she  is  not  poking  her  lit- 
tle finger  into  other  people's  pies.'  " 

"  Well,  I  will  go  to  him,"  said  Nora.  "  I'll  manage 
him.    You  stay  where  you  are,  Molly." 

Nora's  black  hair  was  curling  in  crisp  waves  all  round 
her  beautiful  white  forehead.  Her  dark-blue  eyes  were 
darker  and  more  shining  than  ever,  there  was  a  richer 
bloom  on  her  cheeks,  and  there  were  sweeter  smiles  on 


286  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

her  lips  than  she  had  ever  perhaps  worn  before  as  she  now 
entered  the  Squire's  room. 

"  Well,  father?  "  she  said. 

Squire  O'Shanaghgan,  who  had  been  sitting  wrapped 
in  thought,  roused  himself  on  her  entrance,  gave  her  a 
smile,  and  motioned  her  to  come  to  his  side. 

"  Kneel  down  by  me,  colleen,"  he  said. 

Nora  knelt.  The  Squire  took  his  big  hand  and  put  it 
under  her  chin ;  he  raised  her  blooming  face  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  which  looked  back  again  at  him.  As  he 
did  so  he  uttered  a  quick  sigh. 

"  You're  after  something,  mavoureen,"  he  said. 
"  What's  up,  little  girl  ?  iWhat's  fretting  that  tender 
heart  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Something,  father,"  said  Nora  then. 

"  And  you  won't  tell  your  old  dad?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not.     Won't  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"Trust  her,  is  it?"  cried  the  Squire.  "I'd  trust  her 
with  all  I  possess.  I'd  trust  her  with  my  hopes  of  heaven 
itself.  Trust  her,  is  it?  Nora,  you  fret  me  when  you 
talk  like  that." 

"  Then  do  trust  me,  father,  and  don't  ask  me  any  ques- 
tions. I'll  tell  you  by  and  by — yes,  I  faithfully  prom- 
ise, but  I  shall  be  busy  to-day.  I  may  have  to  be  away 
from  you  for  a  great  part  of  to-day,  and  I  may  want 
Molly  to  help  me.     Can  you  do  without  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  now,  the  conceit  of  the  creature,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  As  if  I  cannot  do  without  you,  you  little  piece 
of  impertinence.  To  be  sure,  and  to  be  sure  I  can. 
Why,  there  is  your  lady  mother ;  she'll  come  and  sit  with 
me  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  let  out  at  me  all  her  grumbles. 
Nora,  my  heart,  it  is  dreadful  to  hear  her;  but  it's  good 
penance  too,  and  maybe  it's  too  comfortable  you  have 
been  making  me,  and  I  ought  to  have  a  bit  of  what  I  do 


A    DARING  DEED.  287 

not  like  to  keep  me  humble.  You  go  along  now,  and 
come  back  when  you  have  done  that  which  is  filling  your 
heart  to  the  brim.,, 

Nora  kissed  her  father  very  gravely;  she  then  went 
out  of  the  barn,  and  returned  to  where  Angus  and  Han- 
nah, and  also  Molly,  were  waiting  for  her. 

"  I  have  thought  how  I  can  manage,  Miss  Nora,"  said 
Angus.  "  When  those  Englishmen — bad  cess  to  'em  ! — 
are  at  dinner  I'll  get  the  long  cart  out  of  the  yard,  and 
I'll  put  the  white  pony  to  it,  and  then  it's  easy  to  get  the 
big  tarpaulin  that  we  have  for  the  hayrick  out  of  its 
place  in  the  west  barn.  I  have  everything  handy ;  and  if 
you  could  come  along  with  me,  Miss  Nora,  and  the  other 
young  lady,  and  if  Hannah  here  will  lend  a  hand,  why 
we'll  do  up  the  place  a  bit,  and  the  poor  forsaken  crayther 
can  die  there  at  least." 

"  Do  not  forget  the  basket  of  provisions,  Hannah,"  said 
Nora,  "  the  potatoes,  and  the  bacon,  and  a  tiny  bottle  of 
potheen;  and  do  not  forget  some  fagots  and  bits  of  turf 
to  kindle  up  the  fire  again.  Oh,  and,  Hannah,  a  blanket 
if  you  can  manage  it ;  and  we  might  get  a  few  wisps  of 
straw  to  put  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  The  straw  would 
make  a  fine  bed." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Hannah.  "  You  lave  it  to  me,  me 
beautiful  young  lady." 

The  two  servants  now  departed,  and  Nora  and  her 
cousin  went  into  the  house.  The  early  dinner,  or  rather 
lunch,  as  it  was  now  called,  was  served  soon  afterwards ; 
and  almost  immediately  after  the  meal  was  over  Nora  and 
Molly  ran  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  plantation,  where 
they  found  Angus,  Hannah,  the  long  cart  with  the  pony 
harnessed  to  it,  and  the  tarpaulin,  straw,  basket  of  pro- 
visions, etc.,  all  placed  in  the  bottom. 

"  Jump  in,  Molly,"  said  Nora. 


288  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

Molly  scrambled  in  as  best  she  could;  Nora  followed 
her;  and  Hannah,  climbing  in  over  the  left  wheel,  sat 
down  at  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  Angus  jumped  on  the 
driver's  seat,  and  whipped  up  the  pony.  The  pony  was 
stout  and  very  strong,  and  well  accustomed  to  Irish  hills. 
They  were  off.  Molly  had  never  been  so  rattled  and 
bumped  and  shaken  in  the  whole  course  of  her  life,  but 
she  enjoyed  it,  as  she  said,  immensely.  Only,  what  was 
Nora  doing?  The  tarpaulin  had  been  carefully  hidden 
from  view  by  the  straw  which  Angus  had  cunningly 
placed  over  and  not  under  it ;  and  it  was  well  that  this 
was  the  case,  as  after  the  little  party  had  left  O'Shan- 
aghgan  a  couple  of  miles,  they  were  met  by  John  Finni- 
gan  driving  on  his  outside  car. 

"Why,  then,  Miss  Nora,  what  are  you  doing  now?" 
he  said. 

"  Having  a  drive  for  my  own  pleasure,"  replied  Nora, 
nodding  gayly. 

Finnigan  looked  with  suspicion  at  the  party,  but  as 
there  was  nothing  contraband  in  anybody  driving  in  a 
long  cart,  and  as  he  could  not  possibly  guess  what  they 
were  doing,  he  drove  on  his  own  way  without  saying 
anything  further.  After  less  than  an  hour's  driving  they 
reached  the  foot  of  Slieve  Nagorna,  and  here  the  real  toil 
began,  for  it  was  quite  impossible  for  the  pony,  willing 
as  he  was,  to  lug  the  cart  up  the  mountain.  Where  there 
is  a  will,  however,  there  is  generally  a  way;  and  although 
the  pony  could  not  drag  the  cart  up,  he  could  go  up  him- 
self, being  very  sure-footed  and  quite  willing  to  be  turned 
into  a  beast  of  burden  for  the  nonce.  The  heavy  tarpau- 
lin, therefore,  was  fastened  on  his  back,  and,  with  Angus 
leading  and  Hannah  following  with  the  basket  of  pro- 
visions, and  the  two  girls  making  up  the  rear,  the  little 
cavalcade  started  forward.     Oh,  how  hot  it  seemed,  and 


A   DARING  DEED.  289 

oh,  how  tired  Molly  got !  But  never  mind ;  they  were 
making  progress.  After  a  time  they  reached  the  site  of 
Andy's  cabin,  and  then  Angus  and  Hannah  developed 
strength  which  fairly  took  Molly's  breath  away,  for  the 
tarpaulin  was  absolutely  lifted  up  and  deposited  as  a  sort 
of  temporary  roof  over  the  roofless  walls ;  and  when  this 
had  been  done  Angus  managed  to  cut  a  hole  in  the  center 
to  make  a  chimney;  then  the  fagots  were  placed  on  the 
hearth  and  the  turf  put  on  top  of  them,  and  the  remain- 
der of  the  turf  laid  handy  near  by;  and  the  straw  was 
ready,  soft  and  inviting,  in  a  corner  not  too  far  away 
from  the  fire,  and  the  blankets  were  spread  over  it;  and 
the  basket  of  provisions,  cold  boiled  potatoes,  cold  bacon, 
and  the  little  bottle  of  potheen  were  all  left  handy.  It 
was  indeed  a  miserable  home,  but,  compared  to  the  deso- 
late appearance  it  had  presented,  it  now  looked  almost 
comfortable.  Nora  laughed  with  pleasure.  "  He  shall 
-come  back  here.  It  is  better  than  nothing.  He  shall  stop 
here.  I  will  explain  things  to  my  father  by  and  by,"  said 
the  girl ;  and  then  they  all  turned  their  steps  homeward. 
At  the  appointed  hour  that  evening  Nora  went  down 
to  the  shore.  She  fully  expected  to  find  Andy  Neil  wait- 
ing for  her.  Wild  and  half-insane  as  he  was,  he  kept  his 
selfmade  appointments,  as  a  rule.  She  wandered  about, 
fearing  that  someone  would  notice  her;  for  she  knew 
that  if  John  Finnigan  thought  for  a  single  moment  that 
she  was  secretly  befriending  Andy,  he  would  not  leave  a 
single  stone  unturned  to  circumvent  her.  He  was  very 
proud  of  his  powers  of  evicting  tenants,  and,  as  he  had  the 
Squire's  permission  to  do  his  worst  on  this  occasion, 
would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  relax  his  iron  grip. 
Nora,  however,  wandered  about  in  vain;  there  was  no 
sign  of  Andy.  She  even  ventured  to  go  to  the  borders  of 
the  plantation  and  softly  call  his  name. 


290  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"  Andy — Andy  Neil,"  called  the  girl,  but  no  Andy  re- 
sponded. She  now  felt  really  nervous.  Why  was  Andy 
not  there?  What  could  possibly  have  happened?  She 
returned  slowly  and  thoughtfully  to  the  house.  It  would 
not  do  to  show  any  alarm,  but  she  certainly  felt  the  re- 
verse of  comfortable.  What  had  happened  to  the  man? 
She  did  not  for  a  moment  think  that  he  could  be  dead ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  pictured  him  alive  and  still  more  in- 
sane than  the  night  before,  still  more  desperate  in  his 
mind,  still  more  darkly  pursued  by  the  grim  phantom  of 
revenge.  Was  Andy  now  so  really  insane  that  he  had 
even  forgotten  his  appointment  with  Xora?  This  was 
probably  the  case.  But  although  the  man  was  too  insane 
to  think  of  meeting  the  girl,  he  was  probably  not  at  all 
too  insane  to  make  another  attempt  on  the  Squire's  life. 
He  was  perhaps  so  desperate  now  that  his  one  idea  was  to 
carry  out  his  revenge  before  he  died.  What  was  Nora 
to  do?  She  thought  and  thought,  and  walked  up  to  the 
house  with  more  and  more  lagging  footsteps.  Finally  she 
made  up  her  mind.  There  was  nothing  whatever  left  for 
it  but  for  her  to  sit  up  with  the  Squire  that  night ;  she 
herself  must  be  his  guardian  angel,  for  he  must  not  be 
alarmed,  and  yet  most  certainly  he  must  be  protected. 
Nora  carefully  considered  this  idea.  She  had  made  the 
little  cabin  quite  ready  for  Andy's  reception ;  he  could 
creep  into  it  once  more,  light  his  fire,  eat  his  food,  and  lie 
down  on  the  bed  at  least,  as  good  as  any  other  bed  he  had 
ever  slumbered  on ;  and  if  death  came  to  him,  it  would 
find  him  in  his  old  house,  and  perhaps  God  would  for- 
give him,  seeing  that  he  was  so  desperate  and  life  had 
been  so  hard.  Yes,  Nora  felt  that  God  was  very  merci- 
ful— far  more  merciful  than  man.  But  to-night — how 
was  to-night  to  be  got  through?  She  hac1  now  reached 
the  yard,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Angus. 


A   DARING  DEED.  29 1 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you,  miss?"  said  the 
young  man,  touching  his  hat  respectfully  to  the  girl. 

"  If  you  could  be  near  somewhere,  Angus,  and  if  it 
were  necessary,  and  we  wanted  the  long  cart  to-night, 
could  we  get  it  ?  " 

"  You  ask  me,  Miss  Nora,  what  we  could  get  and  what 
we  could  not  get  at  O'Shanaghgan,"  answered  Angus ; 
"  and  I  answer  ye  back  that  what  ye  want,  Miss  Nora,  ye 
shall  have,  if  it  is  the  heart  out  of  me  body.  The  long 
cart,  is  it?  To  be  sure,  me  pretty  lady,  and  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  too.  Why,  it's  meself  will  slape  in  the 
bottom  of  the  long  cart  this  blessed  night,  and  all  you  has 
to  do  is  to  come  and  pull  the  front  lock  of  me  hair,  and 
I'll  be  up  in  a  jiffy.  You  give  it  a  sharp  tug,  Miss  Nora, 
for  I  slapes  heavy ;  but  if  you  come,  the  long  cart  and  the 
powny  will  be  there." 

"  Then  that's  all  right,"  answered  Nora. 

She  went  into  the  barn.  The  Squire  had  now  con- 
trived to  renew  all  his  old  accustomed  habits.  On  the 
little  wooden  table  was  a  small  lamp  which  smoked  badly ; 
the  local  paper  was  laid  on  the  table,  and  the  pipe  which 
the  Squire  best  loved  lay  near.  He  had  been  enjoying  a 
good  smoke,  and  was  thinking  of  turning  in,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  when  Nora  appeared. 

"  Good-night,  father,"  she  said.  She  went  up  to  him, 
and  bent  down  over  him,  to  give  him  her  accustomed 
kiss. 

"  Why,  then,  it's  sleepy  I  am,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I 
am  thinking  of  turning  into  bed.  I  am  getting  on  fine; 
and  Angus,  boy  that  he  is,  always  comes  and  gives  me  a 
helping  hand  on  to  my  bed.  I  cannot  see  your  face  with 
the  smoke  of  that  lamp,  mavoureen;  but  things  are  all 
right — aren't  they?" 

"  That  they  are,  father,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  but  I  am  a 


29 2  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

little  tired ;  and  if  Angus  is  coming  to  help  you,  and  you 
do  not  want  anything  more  from  me,  I  will  go  to  bed  my- 
self." 

"  Do  that,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Your  voice  sounds 
peaky ;  you  have  been  doing  too  much." 

Xora  lingered  another  moment  or  two.  How  thank- 
ful she  felt  that  that  smoky  lamp  prevented  her  father 
reading  the  anxiety  in  her  eyes !  She  could  not  keep  all 
the  tiredness  out  of  her  voice,  but  she  could  at  least  keep 
anxiety  from  it ;  and  the  Squire  bade  her  a  hearty  good- 
night, and  parted  with  her  with  one  of  his  usual  jokes. 
Nora  then  went  into  the  house.  The  hour  for  late  din- 
ner was  over ;  she  herself  had  not  been  present,  but  Molly 
had  managed  to  appear  as  usual.  Nora  ran  down  to  the 
kitchen  premises.  The  cook,  a  very  stately  English  wo- 
man, stared  when  she  saw  the  young  lady  of  the  Castle 
appear  in  the  great  kitchen. 

"What  is  it,  Miss  O'Shanaghgan?  "  she  said,  gazing 
at  Nora  all  over.  What  did  this  wild  and  eccentric  girl 
want?  How  was  it  possible  that  she  could  demean  her- 
self by  coming  so  freely  into  the  servants'  premises? 

"  I  want  to  know,  Mrs.  Shaw,"  said  Nora,  "  if  you  will 
oblige  me?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Miss  O'Shanaghgan ;  if  I  can." 

"  Will  you  pack  a  little  basket  with  some  cold  pie,  and 
anything  else  tasty  and  nourishing  which  you  have  got; 
and  will  you  put  a  tiny  bottle  of  brandy  into  the  basket, 
and  also  a  bottle  of  water ;  and  can  I  have  it  at  once,  for  I 
am  in  a  great  hurry  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  a  fresh  pigeon  pie  in  the  larder,"  an- 
swered the  cook;  "  but  why  should  you  want  it?  " 

"  Oh !  please,  Mrs.  Shaw,"  answered  Nora,  "  will  you 
give  it  to  me  without  asking  questions?  I  will  love  you 
for  all  the  rest  of  mv  life  if  vou  will." 


A   DARING  DEED.  293 

"  Love  me,  is  it  ?  "  thought  the  cook.  "  A  pretty  crea- 
ture like  that  love  me !  " 

"  Your  love  is  cheaply  purchased,  miss,"  she  said  aloud, 
and  then  went  without  a  word  into  the  larder,  and  soon 
returned  with  a  well-filled  basket,  which  she  placed  in 
Nora's  hand.  "  And  I  added  some  fruit,  a  little  cup  of 
jelly,  and  a  knife  and  fork  and  a  spoon,  and  some  salt;  but 
why  you,  Miss  Nora,  should  need  a  picnic  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  beats  me." 

"  Remember  our  compact,"  said  Nora.  "  You  say 
nothing  of  this,  and — I  love  you ;"  and  then,  overcome  by 
a  sudden  impulse,  she  bent  forward  and  laid  the  light- 
est of  kisses  on  the  astonished  Mrs.  Shaw's  forehead. 

Mrs.  Shaw  felt  slightly  overawed.  "  Bless  her !  What 
a  beautiful  young  lady  she  is !  "  thought  the  good  woman. 
"  But  the  ways  of  the  Irish  beat  all  comprehension." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  COT  WHERE  HE  WAS  BORN. 

Nora  avoided  Molly  that  night.  On  reflection,  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  it  would  be  best  for  Molly  to  know 
nothing  of  her  design.  If  she  were  in  complete  igno- 
rance, no  amount  of  questioning  could  elicit  the  truth. 
Xora  went  into  her  bedroom,  and  changed  her  pretty 
jacket  and  skirt  and  neat  sailor  hat  for  a  dark- 
blue  skirt  and  blouse  of  the  same  material.  Over 
these  she  put  a  long,  old-fashioned  cloak  which  at  one 
time  had  belonged  to  her  mother.  Over  her  head  she 
tied  a  little  red  handkerchief,  and,  having  eaten  a  small 
portion  of  Airs.  Shaw's  provisions,  she  left  the  room. 
It  was  already  night-time ;  and  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan, 
Molly,  and  the  servants  had  gone  to  bed.  Nora  now 
locked  her  door  from  the  outside,  slipped  the  key  into 
her  pocket,  and  her  basket  of  provisions  partly  hidden 
under  the  falls  of  her  cloak,  ran  downstairs.  The  dogs 
generally  slept  in  the  big  hall ;  but  they  knew  Nora's 
step,  and  rose  slowly,  wagging  their  heavy  tails.  Nora 
patted  them  on  their  heads,  gave  them  each  an  endear- 
ing word,  and  stooped  to  kiss  pretty  Cushla  on  her  black 
forehead.  She  then  softly  unbolted  one  of  the  windows, 
lifted  the  sash,  and  got  out.  She  carefully  shut  the 
window  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  opened  it.  She  now 
found  herself  on  the  grassy  sward  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  drawing-room.  Under  the  old  regime  that  sward 
was  hard,  and  knotty  tufts  of  weed  as  well  as  grass  grew 


THE   COT   WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  295 

up  here  and  there  in  profusion;  but  already,  under  the 
English  government,  it  was  beginning  to  assume  the 
velvet-like  appearance  which  a  properly  kept  lawn  ought 
to  have. 

Nora  hated  to  feel  such  softness ;  she  disliked  every- 
thing which  seemed  to  her  to  flavor  of  the  English  and 
their  ways.  There  was  a  hot,  rebellious  feeling  in  her 
heart.  Why  should  these  things  be?  Why  should  not 
her  Irish  land  and  her  Irish  people  be  left  in  their  wild 
freedom?  She  ran  round  to  the  yard.  Angus  had  re- 
ceived instructions  to  leave  the  little  postern  door  on  the 
latch,  and  Nora  now  opened  it  and  went  softly  in.  The 
moon  was  beginning  to  rise,  but  was  not  at  the  full. 
There  was,  however  already  sufficient  light  for  her  to 
see  each  object  with  distinctness.  She  went  and  sat  down 
in  the  shadow  made  by  the  great  barn.  She  sat  on  the 
step  to  the  barn,  wrapping  her  warm  cloak  tightly  round 
her,  and  keeping  her  basket  of  provisions  by  her  side. 
Here  she  would  sit  all  night,  if  necessary.  Her  vigil 
might  have  no  result,  but  at  any  rate  it  would  insure  her 
father  from  danger.  For  now  only  over  Nora's  dead 
body  could  the  wild  Andy  Neil  approach  the  Squire. 

"  Andy  shall  kill  me  first,"  she  thought ;  "  and  if  I  die, 
I  will  scream  and  father  will  awaken.  Angus  is  on  the 
watch ;  the  alarm  will  be  given ;  at  least  my  father's  life 
will  be  spared.  But  why  do  I  think  of  danger  of  this 
sort?  Andy  will  not  kill  me.  I  place  my  trust  in  God. 
I  am  doing  the  right  thing — I  know  I  am  doing  the  right 
thing." 

When  Nora  had  let  herself  in  at  the  postern  door  she 
had  immediately  drawn  the  bolt  at  the  other  side,  thus 
preventing  anyone  else  from  entering  the  great  yard  by 
the  same  way;  but  she  knew  that,  although  Andy  could 
net  now  enter  the  yard,  in  all  probability  he  was  already 


296  LIGHT  a    THE  MORNING. 

hiding  there.  There  were  no  end  to  the  ways  and  devices 
of  a  wild  Irishman  of  Andy's  sort.  He  was  so  thin  and 
emaciated,  too,  that  he  could  squeeze  himself  into  the 
tiniest  space.  It  lay  in  his  power  to  remain  motionless 
all  night,  until  the  moment  when  his  revenge  was  ripe. 
Nora  sat  on.  She  heard  the  old  clock  in  the  ancient 
tower  of  the  Castle  strike  the  hours.  That  old  clock  had 
been  severely  animadverted  on  by  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan 
on  account  of  the  cracked  sound  in  the  bell ;  but  Nora  felt 
relieved  to  find  that,  amongst  all  the  modern  innovations, 
the  old  clock  still  held  its  own ;  it  had  not,  at  least,  yet, 
been  removed  from  the  tower.  It  struck  solemnly  now 
the  hour  of  midnight 

"  The  witching  hour,"  thought  the  girl.  "  The  hour 
when  the  Banshee  walks  abroad.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  see 
her.  I  should  like  to  see  her.  Did  she  hear  me  when  I 
called  to  her  in  the  cave  ?  Would  she  help  me  if  she  came 
to  my  rescue  now  ?  She  belongs  to  us ;  she  is  our  own 
Banshee ;  she  has  belonged  to  our  family  for  many,  many 
generations." 

Nora  thought  these  thoughts ;  but  then  the  feeling  that 
Someone  else  who  never  fails  those  who  trust  Him  was 
also  watching  her  during  this  silent  hour  came  to  her 
with  a  sense  of  comfort.  She  could  hear  her  father  turn- 
ing once  or  twice  in  the  creaky  old  wooden  bed.  She 
was  glad  to  feel  that,  unknown  to  him,  she  was  his  guar- 
dian angel.  She  began  to  think  about  the  future,  and 
almost  to  forget  Andy  and  the  possible  and  very  great 
peril  of  the  present,  when,  shortly  before  the  hour  of  one, 
all  her  senses  were  preternaturally  excited  by  the  sound 
of  a  footfall.  It  was  a  very  soft  footfall — the  noise  made 
by  a  bare  foot.  Nora  heard  it  just  where  the  shadow  was 
deepest.  She  stood  up  now ;  she  knew  that,  from  her 
present  position,  the  one  who  was  making  this  dead  sort 


THE   COT   WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  297 

of  heavy  sound  could  not  possibly  see  her.  She  waited, 
her  breath  coming  hard  and  fast.  For  a  minute,  or  per- 
haps more,  there  was  again  absolute  and  complete  silence. 
The  night  was  a  breathless  one ;  there  was  not  a  sound 
abroad ;  overhead  the  sky  was  of  an  inky  blue-black,  the 
stars  were  shining  gloriouslv,  and  the  moon  was  growing 
brighter  and  more  clear,  and  more  nearly  approaching 
her  meridian  each  moment.  The  girl  stood  with  her 
hand  pressed  against  her  beating  heart;  she  had  flung 
aside  her  little  red  handkerchief,  and  her  hair  had  fallen 
loose  and  was  tumbling  over  her  shoulders ;  she  raised 
her  other  hand  to  her  left  ear  to  listen  more  intently — she 
was  in  the  attitude  of  one  about  to  spring. 

Again  there  came  the  sound  which  she  expected,  and 
which,  now  that  it  had  arrived,  caused  her  heart  to  beat 
no  longer  with  fear,  but  with  a  sort  of  wild  exultation. 
Her  suspicions  had  been  right — the  danger  was  real ;  her 
father's  most  precious  life  was  in  peril.  The  steps  came 
quicker  and  more  quick ;  they  approached  the  other  win- 
dow of  the  barn.  This  window  lay  in  complete  shadow. 
Nora  now  stepped  out  of  her  hiding  place,  and,  going  with 
two  or  three  quick  strides  down  the  yard,  waited  within 
a  foot  or  two  of  the  man,  who  now  proceeded  to  lift  him- 
self up  by  the  window  ledge  preparatory  to  opening  the 
barn  window.  With  the  aid  of  a  claspknife  he  could  very 
easily  push  back  the  quaint  and  imperfect  fastening ;  then 
it  was  but  to  push  in  the  glass,  and  he  could  enter  the 
barn.  He  sat  on  the  window  ledge  with  his  back  to  Nora. 
His  huge,  gaunt  form  looked  larger  than  ever,  intensified 
now  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  He  breathed  quickly;  his 
breathing  proclaimed  that  he  himself  was  in  physical  suf- 
fering. 

"  Andy,"  said  Nora  in  a  low,  very  low  whisper. 

But  this  low  tone  was  as  startling:  to  the  madman  on 


298  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

the  window  as  though  a  pistol  shot  had  been  sounded 
in  his  ears. 

"  Be  the  powers !  "  he  said,  and  he  tumbled  so  quickly 
off  the  window  sill  that  Nora  herself  held  out  her  hand  to 
help  him.  Then  he  turned  fiercely  and  faced  the  girl. 
She  saw  the  light  of  madness  gleaming  in  his  sunken 
eyes;  his  wild  face  looked  more  cadaverous  than  ever; 
his  great,  skinny,  long  hand  shook.  He  raised  it  as  if 
to  fell  the  girl  to  the  ground,  but  paused  to  look  in  her 
face,  and  then  his  hand  hung  feebly  to  his  side. 

Xora  had  enacted  all  this  scene  beforehand  to  herself; 
she  now  thrust  into  Andy's  face,  within  an  inch  or  two  of 
his  nose,  a  great  lump  of  bread  and  a  slab  of  cold  pie. 

"  Before  you  do  anything  more,  eat,"  she  said ;  "  eat 
quickly ;  make  no  noise." 

It  was  as  impossible  for  the  famished  man  to  resist  the 
good  and  tempting  food  as  it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  a  needle  to  resist  the  influence  of  a  powerful  magnet. 
He  grasped  the  bread,  thrust  the  knife  into  his  wretched 
shirt,  and,  tearing  the  bread  in  fragments,  began  to  stuff 
it  into  his  mouth.  For  a  couple  of  minutes  there  was  no 
sound  but  that  of  the  starved  creature  tearing  the  bread 
and  feeding  himself.  When  he  had  slightly  satisfied 
the  first  cravings  of  his  starved  body  Nora  took  his 
hand. 

"  You  have  not  had  enough  yet,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
fasted  long,  and  are  very  hungry ;  there  is  more  where 
this  came  from." 

She  took  his  hand  quite  unresistingly,  and  led  him 
round  to  the  entrance  of  the  barn. 

"  I  am  up,"  she  said,  "  but  no  one  else.  No  one  else 
knows  of  this.     You  have  come  without  a  gun?  " 

"  I  have  a  knife  instead,"  he  said.  His  eye  glittered 
strangely. 


THE   COT   WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  299 

"  Give  me  your  knife,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  will  give  you 
food  in  exchange  for  it." 

The  famished  creature  began  to  gibber  now  in  the  most 
horrible  manner;  he  pointed  to  his  breast  and  uttered  a 
laugh. 

"  Laugh  again,  and  I  will  call  those  who  will  soon  put 
a  stop  to  your  wild  and  terrible  purposes,  Andy,"  said  the 
girl.  "  Here's  food — fruit,  jelly,  bread.  You  shall  have 
them  all — all,  when  you  give  me  that  knife." 

The  man  looked  at  the  food,  and  now  his  eyes  softened. 
They  became  full  not  only  of  rapture,  but  also  of  laugh- 
ter. He  gave  a  low  guttural  sound,  sank  down  on  the 
ground,  and  held  out  both  his  hands  imploringly  for  some 
of  the  nourishment. 

"  The  knife,"  said  Nora. 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  bosom  and  held  the  knife 
out  to  her.  It  was  a  huge  clasp  knife,  and  Nora  noticed 
with  a  shudder  that  it  had  all  the  appearance  of  having 
been  newly  sharpened.  The  moment  she  got  it  she  put 
it  in  her  pocket,  and  then  invited  the  man  to  feed.  He 
sat  now  quite  humbly.  Nora  helped  him  to  pie.  She  had 
already  taken  the  precaution  to  hide  the  knife  which  Mrs. 
Shaw  had  supplied  her  with.  The  man  ate  and  ate,  until 
his  consuming  hunger  was  satisfied.  Nora  now  gave  him 
a  very  little  of  the  brandy  mixed  with  water.  He  lay 
back  at  last,  exhausted  and  also  satisfied. 

"  It's  wake  I  am,  it's  wake  I  am — it's  wake  I  am  en- 
toirely,"  said  he.  "  Why  are  you  so  good  to  me,  Miss 
Nora?  It  was  to  take  the  life  of  the  Squire  I  was  afther 
to-night." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Nora,  "  and  I  thought  I  would 
prevent  you.  Why  did  you  not  meet  me  this  evening 
down  by  the  shore  ?  " 

The    miserable    creature    now    raised    his    hand    and 


30°  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

pushed  back  a  gray  lock  of  unkempt  hair  from  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Why,  then,"  he  said,  "  it  was  bothered  I  was  en- 
toirely.  I  knew  there  was  something  I  had  got  to  do. 
It  was  waker  and  waker  I  was  getting,  for  I  did  not  touch 
bite  nor  sup  since  I  saw  you  last,  except  a  morsel  of  a 
cold  pitatie ;  and  there  was  not  much  of  the  nourishment 
in  that ;  and  as  the  night  came,  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing except  to  keep  me  word  and  have  me  victory." 

"  Well,  you  have  had  it."  said  Nora. 

"  What  do  you  mane  now,  missie  ?  " 

"  You  have  conquered  yourself ;  that  is  the  best  vic- 
tory of  all.  But  come,  you  made  a  bargain  with  me  last 
night,  and  I  am  prepared  to  keep  it.  I  went  down  to  the 
shore  to  tell  you  that  I  would  do  what  you  wanted  me  to 
do.  The  cabin  is  ready  on  Slieve  Nagorna;  we  have 
made  it  fairly  comfortable  for  you ;  and  I  will  do  better — 
yes,  I  will  try  to  do  better  by  and  by.  I  will  speak  to  my 
father  when  he  is  strong  enough.  Go  to  Slieve  Nagorna 
now,  and  you  will  find  the  old  cot  in  which  you  were  born. 
You  can  sleep  there,  and — and  / — I  will  see  that  you  are 
not  interfered  with." 

"  The  old  cot  in  which  I  was  born,"  said  Neil  very 
slowly.  "  The  old  cot,  and  I'll  see  it  again.  Is  it  a-jok- 
ing  me  you  are,  Miss  Nora  ?  " 

"  Would  I  joke  with  you  just  now,  Andy?     Would  I  ?  " 

"  I  know  it's  saft  you  are  making  me.  There  was  a 
lump  of  ice  in  me;  but,  somehow,  it's  melted.  It's  the 
food  and  your  bonny  face,  and  yer  ways.  But  do  you 
know  that  it  was  your  father  I  wanted  to  kill — t'ould 
Squire?     There,  I  have  said  it!  " 

"  I  know — and  I  have  saved  him,"  answered  Nora. 
"  But  come,  he  may  hear  us  speaking;  he  would  wonder. 
I  do  not  want  him  to  know  anything  of  this  ni^ht.     When 


THE   COT    WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  30 1 

he  is  stronger  I  will  plead  with  him.  Come,  Andy, 
come;  your  home  is  ready  for  you.     Go  back  to  it." 

The  man  tottered  to  his  feet,  and  began  to  stagger 
across  the  barn. 

"  Stay !  you  are  not  strong  enough,"  said  the  girl. 
"Come  outside  the  yard,  here;  come  with  me." 

She  walked  across  the  yard,  reached  the  little  postern 
gate,  and  opened  it. 

"  Come  out  and  wait,"  she  said  in  a  mysterious  voice. 
"  You  cannot  walk  to  Slieve  Nagorna,  and  yet  you  must 
get  there ;  but  I  will  get  Angus  to  take  you." 

"  Angus !  ay,  he  is  a  true  Irish  boy.  Aw,  I'd  trust 
him." 

"  You  well  may ;  he  is  a  broth  of  a  boy,"  said  Nora. 
"  Sit  there.     I  will  soon  be  back  with  you." 

She  shut  Andy  out,  bolting  the  little  gate.  The  man 
heard  the  bolt  being  drawn,  but  did  not  move ;  he  had  not 
the  slightest  fear  but  that  Xora  would  keep  her  word. 
She  ran  across  the  yard  and  opened  the  door  of  the  barn 
at  the  farther  end.  Angus  was  already  awake ;  he  heard 
her  light  step. 

"Is  it  me  you're  wanting,  Miss  Nora?" 

"  Angus,  all  is  well,"  she  said.  "  What  I  wanted  to 
do  I  have  succeeded  in  doing.  It  is  Andy  Neil  who  is 
without;  he  is  broken  down  and  is  very  weak.  Get  the 
long  cart  and  take  him  to  the  foot  of  Slieve  Nagorna,  help 
him  up  the  mountain,  and  see  him  into  the  old  cot 
where  he  was  born.  Good-night,  Angus,  and  God  bless 
you." 

Nora  returned  to  her  own  bedroom.  She  unlocked  the 
door  and  let  herself  in.  Without  waiting  even  to  undress, 
she  flung  herself  on  the  bed,  curled  herself  up,  and  went 
off  into  dreamless  slumber.  When  she  woke  again  it  was 
broad  daylight,  and  Molly  was  standing  over  her. 


302  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

"Why,  Nora,  you  have  lain  undressed  all  night! 
What — what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  said  Nora.  "  Do  not  ask  me.  I 
have  done  what  I  wanted  to  do,  and  I  am  thankful." 

"And  you  won't  really  tell  me?" 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  cannot  ever.  There  is  more  to  at- 
tend to,  Molly ;  you  and  I  have  got  to  go  to  Slieve  Na- 
gorna  immediately  after  breakfast." 

Molly  did  not  ask  anything  further. 

"  I  brought  your  hot  water,"  she  said.  "  You  do  not 
want  any  of  the  grand  English  servants  to  see  you  look 
like  this.'* 

"  What  a  dear  old  thing  you  are !  "  said  Nora.  "  I  am 
so  grateful  to  you." 

She  got  up,  took  off  her  clothes,  indulged  in  a  hot  bath, 
and  came  down  to  breakfast  looking  exactly  as  if  she  had 
spent  an  ordinary  night.  Airs.  O'Shanaghgan  was  a  little 
more  fretful  than  ever,  and  told  Nora  that  her  conduct 
was  making  her  mother  quite  ridiculous  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

"  I  met  those  remarkably  nice  people,  the  Setons  of 
Seton  Court,  yesterday,"  said  Airs.  O'Shanaghgan — 
"  charming  English  people — and  they  asked  me  if  it  was 
really  true  that  my  husband,  the  owner  of  Castle  O'Shan- 
aghgan, was  sleeping  in  a  barn." 

"And  what  did  you  answer,  mother?"  asked  Nora, 
her  dark-blue  eyes  bright  with  sudden  fun. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  made  the  best  of  it.  I  could  not 
deny  such  a  patent  fact.  I  said  that  the  eccentricities  of 
Irish  squires  were  proverbial.  But  you  can  imagine,  my 
dear  Nora,  my  mortification  as  I  had  to  make  this  ad- 
mission. If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  I  shall  ask  your 
uncle  to  let  the  place,  and  allow  us  all  to  live  in  Eng- 
land." 


THE   COT    WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  303 

"  Oh,  come,  mother,"  said  her  daughter.  "  You  ought 
to  be  thankful  this  morning — you  ought  to  be.  Oh, 
mother !  do  give  me  a  loving  kiss.  It  is  so  long,  so  long 
since  you  have  done  so,  and  somehow  I  am  tired,  mother." 

"  Tired !  "  said  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  alarmed  and  sur- 
prised by  the  new  tone  in  Nora's  voice.  "  You  look  tired. 
How  black  those  shadows  are  under  your  eyes !  and  you 
have  lost  some  of  your  color.  There !  of  course  I  will 
kiss  you,  and  I  hope  I  am  thankful,  for  we  certainly  have 
had  wonderful  mercies  since  your  dear  Uncle  George 
came  over  and  delivered  us  all.  But  what  do  you  mean 
by  special  thankfulness  this  morning?" 

"  Never  mind,  mother,"  said  Nora.  "  Only  do  be 
thankful,  do  thank  God  for  His  mercies ;  and  oh,  mother, 
do  give  me  that  kiss  !  " 

"  There,  child !  of  course  you  shall  have  it." 

Mrs.  O'  Shanaghgan  pressed  her  lips  lightly  to  Nora's 
cheek. 

"  Now  eat  your  breakfast,"  she  said.  "  These  eggs  are 
quite  fresh,  and  the  honey  was  bought  only  yesterday — 
you  know  you  are  fond  of  honey — and  these  hot  cakes  are 
made  in  a  new  and  particularly  nice  way.  Eat  plenty, 
Nora,  and  do,  my  dear,  try  to  restrain  your  emotions.  It 
is  quite  terrible  what  wear  and  tear  you  give  yourself 
over  these  feelings.  It  is  really,  my  dear  girl,  unladylike ; 
and  let  me  tell  you  another  thing,  that  when  you  lose  your 
fresh  wild-rose  color ,  you  will  lose  the  greater  part  of 
your  beauty.  Dear  me !  it  will  not  stay  long  with  you  if 
you  excite  yourself  about  every  hand's  turn  in  the  ridicu- 
lous way  you  are  doing." 

Nora  did  not  say  any  more.  She  sat  down  to  the 
breakfast  table.  Was  her  mother  right?  Was  she  in- 
deed exciting  herself  over  every  hand's  turn,  and  was 
that  thing  which  had  happened  last  night — which,  now 


304  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

that  it  was  over,  caused  her  heart  to  beat  a  trifle  too  fast, 
and  brought  that  tired,  that  very  tired  feeling  into  her 
sensitive  frame — was  that  indeed  but  a  trifling  thing? 
Thank  God — oh,  thank  God — she  had  been  in  time ! 

Soon  after  breakfast  Nora  and  Molly  started  once  more 
for  Slieve  Nagorna.  They  went  on  the  outside  car  this 
time,  and  Nora  found  her  strength  and  courage  returning 
as  she  handled  the  reins  and  urged  Black  Bess  to  speed. 
They  presently  reached  their  destination.  Nora  fastened 
up  the  horse  as  she  had  done  on  the  previous  day,  and  the 
girls  began  to  climb  the  mountain. 

"  You  must  not  be  afraid  when  you  see  Andy,"  said 
Nora.  "  He  was  very  weak  last  night,  and  will  in  all 
probability  be  in  his  house.  I  am  going  to  arrange  to 
have  provisions  sent  to  him  every  day.  He  will  stay  there 
now  that  he  has  got  back  again.'' 

"  But  how  has  he  got  back  again?  You  will  remember 
you  never  told  me  what  happened  last  night." 

"  And  you  must  not  ask  me,  Molly.  What  happened 
last  night  can  never  be  told  by  me  to  any  human  being. 
Only  Angus  knows  something  of  it :  and  Angus  will  not 
tell  anyone  else." 

"And  you  were  frightened?  You  look,  Nora,  as  if 
you  had  gone  through  a  great  deal.'' 

"  I  went  through  more  than  anyone  will  ever  know," 
said  Nora:  "but  I  am  very  thankful." 

The  girls  had  now  reached  the  old  cabin.  The  tarpau- 
lin was  over  the  roof,  but  there  was  no  smoke  issuing 
from  the  hole. 

"  I  wonder  he  did  not  light  his  fire,"  said  Nora  in  an 
anxious  voice.  "  Will  you  go  in  with  me,  Molly,  or  shall 
I  go  alone?  " 

"  I'll  co  in  with  you,"  said  Molly  stoutly.  "  If  you  are 
not  afraid,  neither  will  I  be." 


THE   COT   WHERE  HE    WAS  BORN.  305 

"  I  afraid  now  ?  "  said  Nora,  with  a  smile.  "  Come, 
Molly,  I  hope  the  poor  creature  is  not  very  ill." 

Both  girls  entered  the  cabin.  The  tarpaulin  had  been 
so  contrived  that  a  piece  hung  over,  and  formed  a  tempo- 
rary door.  Nora  now  pushed  it  aside,  and  they  both 
stepped  into  the  miserable  cabin.  Andy  was  lying  on  the 
straw ;  the  basket  of  provisions  had  not  yet  been  touched, 
nor  was  the  fire  lit.  Andy  lay  very  still  and  quiet  on  the 
straw.  Nora  went  up  to  him ;  his  eyes  were  shut,  and  his 
head  was  slightly  turned  round,  so  that  she  could  not  at 
first  get  a  proper  glimpse  of  his  face.  She  went  on  her 
knees,  then  presently  touched  his  forehead  with  her  own 
slim  hand,  calling  his  name  softly  at  the  same  time. 
There  was  no  answer — there  would  never  be  an  answer 
again,  for  the  wild  Irishman  was  dead. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
"  i'm  a  happy  man  !  " 

It  was  just  before  Christmas,  and  the  preparations  for 
the  festive  season  were  great  at  Castle  O'Shanaghgan. 
The  Squire  was  quite  well  again.  Once  more  he  walked 
all  over  his  estate ;  once  more  he  talked  to  his  tenants ; 
once  more  he  joked  and  laughed  with  the  other  squires 
of  the  neighborhood.  To  a  certain  extent  he  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  grand  house  with  its  grand  furniture ; 
to  the  terrible  late  dinner,  at  which  he  stoutly  declined  to 
appear  in  evening  dress ;  to  the  English  servants  who 
knew  none  of  his  ways.  He  began  to  bear  with  these 
tilings,  for  Light  o'  the  Morning,  as  he  called  his  beloved 
Xora,  was  always  by  his  side,  and  at  night  he  could  cast 
off  the  yoke  which  was  so  burdensome,  and  do  what  he 
liked  in  the  barn.  At  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan's  earnest  re- 
quest this  barn  was  now  rendered  a  tolerably  comfortable 
bedroom ;  the  walls  had  been  papered,  and  the  worst  of 
the  draughts  excluded.  A  huge  fireplace  had  been  built 
out  at  one  end,  and  the  Squire  did  not  object  at  all  to  a 
large  turf  fire  on  a  cold  night ;  but  the  old  bedstead  from 
Cronane  still  occupied  its  old  place  of  honor  in  the  best 
position  in  the  room,  the  little  deal  table  was  destitute 
of  cloth  or  ornament  of  any  kind,  and  the  tarpaulin  on  the 
floor  was  not  rendered  more  luxurious  by  the  presence 
of  rugs. 

"  Rugs  indeed !  "  said  the  Squire,  snorting  almost  like 
a  wild  beast  when  his  wife  ventured  to  suggest  a  few  of 


nVM  A   HAPPY  MAN!"  307 

these  comforts.  "  It  is  tripping  me  up  you'd  be?  Rugs 
indeed !     I  know  better." 

But  compared  to  its  condition  when  the  Squire  first  oc- 
cupied it,  the  barn  was  now  a  fairly  comfortable  bed- 
room, and  Squire  Murphy,  Squire  Fitzgerald,  Squire  Ter- 
ence Malone,  and  the  other  squires  of  the  neighborhood 
had  many  a  good  smoke  there,  and  many  a  hearty  laugh, 
as  they  said,  quite  "  unbeknownst  "  to  the  English  lady 
and  her  grand  friends.  And  Nora,  Molly,  and  even 
Biddy  Murphy  often  shared  in  these  festive  times,  laugh- 
ing at  the  best  jokes,  and  adding  sundry  witticisms  on 
their  own  account. 

It  was  now,  however,  Christmas  Eve,  and  Mrs.  O'Shan- 
aghgan's  nearest  English  relatives  were  coming  to  spend 
the  festive  season  at  the  Castle.  Mrs.  Hartrick,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  was  to  find  herself  in  Old  Ireland. 
Linda  was  also  accompanying  her  mother,  and  Terence 
O'Shanaghgan  was  coming  back  for  a  brief  visit  to  the 
home  which  one  day  would  be  his.  Terence  was  now 
permanently  settled  in  his  uncle's  office,  and  was  likely  to 
make  an  excellent  man  of  business.  Mr.  Hartrick  was 
glad  of  this,  for  he  would  much  prefer  the  O'Shan- 
aghgans  to  have  money  of  their  own  in  the  future,  rather 
than  to  depend  on  him  to  keep  up  the  old  place.  In- 
wardly the  Squire  was  fretting  and  fuming  a  good  bit  at 
Mr.  Hartrick  really  owning  Castle  O'Shanaghgan. 

"  I  must  say,  after  all's  said  and  done,  the  man  is  a  gen- 
tleman," he  remarked  to  his  daughter ;  "  but  it  frets  me 
sore,  Nora,  that  I  should  hold  the  place  under  him." 

"  It's  better,  surely,  than  not  having  it  at  all,"  answered 
Nora. 

"  Yes,  be  the  powers !  it  is  that,"  said  the  Squire;  "  but 
when  I  say  so,  it's  about  all.  But  I'll  own  the  truth  to 
you  now,  Nora :  when  they  were  smothering  me  up  in  that 


308  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

dreadful  bedroom  before  you  came,  mavourneen,  I  almost 
wished  that  I  had  sold  the  place  out  and  out." 

"  Oh,  but,  father,  that  time  is  long  over,"  answered 
Nora ;  "  and  I  believe  that,  after  all,  it  will  be  good  for  the 
poor  people  round  here  that  you  should  stay  with 
them,  and  that  there  should  be  plenty  of  money  to  make 
their  cabins  comfortable,  and  to  give  them  a  chance  in 
life." 

"  If  I  thought  that,  there'd  not  be  another  grumble  out 
of  me,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I  declare  to  you,  Nora,  Tel 
even  put  on  that  abominable  dinner  suit  which  your  lady 
mother  ordered  from  the  best  Dublin  tailors.  My  word ! 
but  it's  cramped  and  fussed  I  feel  in  it.  But  I'd  put  it 
on,  and  do  more  than  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  souls 
who  have  too  little  of  this  world's  goods." 

"  Then,  father,  do  believe  that  it  is  so,"  said  Nora;  and 
now  she  put  one  of  her  soft  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
raised  herself  on  tiptoe  and  kissed  his  cheek.  "  Believe 
that  it  is  so,  for  this  morning  I  went  round  to  the  people, 
and  in  even*  cabin  there  was  a  bit  of  bacon,  and  a  half- 
sack  of  potatoes,  and  fagots,  and  a  pile  of  turf;  and  in 
every  cabin  they  were  blessing  you,  father;  they  think- 
that  you  have  sent  them  these  Christmas  gifts." 

"  Ah,  ah !  "  said  the  Squire,  "  it's  sore  to  me  that  I  have 
not  done  it ;  but  I  must  say  it's  thoughtful  of  George 
Hartrick — very  thoughtful.  I  am  obliged  to  him — I  can- 
not say  more.  Did  you  tell  me  the  things  were  sent  to 
every  cabin,  Nora — all  over  the  place,  alannah?" 

"  Every  cabin,  father,"  answered  his  daughter. 

"  Then,  that  being  the  case,  I'll  truss  myself  up  to- 
night.    I  will  truly.     Mortal  man  couldn't  do  more." 

The  preparations,  not  only  outside  but  inside,  for  the 
arrival  of  the  English  family  were  going  on  with  vigor. 
Pretty  suites  of  rooms  were  being  put   into  their  best 


11  I'M  A   HAPPY  MAN!"  3°9 

holiday  dress  for  the  visitors.  Huge  fires  blazed  merrily 
all  over  the  house.  Hothouse  flowers  were  in  profusion ; 
hothouse  fruit  graced  the  table.  The  great  hall  quite 
shone  with  firelight  and  the  gleam  of  dark  old  oak. 
Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  dressed  herself  in  her  most  regal 
black  velvet  dress  for  this  auspicious  occasion ;  and  Nora, 
Molly,  and  even  Biddy  Murphy,  all  in  white,  danced  ex- 
citedly in  the  hall.  For  Biddy  Murphy,  at  Nora's  special 
suggestion,  had  been  asked  to  spend  Christmas  at  the 
Castle.  It  was  truly  good  to  see  her.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  celestial  nose  and  very  wide  mouth,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  have  looked  at  a  happier  face  than  hers. 
And,  Irish  as  Biddy  was,  she  had  got  the  knack  of  com- 
ing round  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan.  She  did  this  by  her 
simple  and  undisguised  admiration. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan !  "  Biddy  would  cry,  "  it  is 
the  very  most  lovely  thing  I  have  ever  clapped  eyes  on.  I 
never  saw  anything  so  magnificent  as  this  room.  It's 
fairyland;  the  whole  place  is  fairyland;"  and  as  Biddy 
spoke  her  eyes  would  twinkle,  and  her  big  mouth  would 
open,  showing  her  immaculate  white  teeth.  So  much 
did  she  contrive  to  win  over  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  that  that 
lady  presented  her  with  a  soft  white  muslin  dress  for  the 
present  occasion.  If  Biddy  was  proud  before,  she  was 
almost  rampant  with  pleasure  now.  She  twirled  round, 
and  gazed  at  herself  in  the  long  mirrors  which  had  been 
inserted  in  the  hall  between  the  oak  panels. 

"  Why,  then,  it's  proud  me  ancestors,  the  old  Irish 
kings,  would  be  of  me- now,"  she  was  even  heard  to  say. 

But,  all  things  being  ready,  the  time  at  last  approached 
when  the  tired  travelers  would  arrive.  At  the  eleventh 
hour  there  had  come  a  great  surprise  to  Nora  and  Molly ; 
for  Mrs.  Hartrick  and  Linda  were  bringing  Stephanotie 
with  them.     How  this  came  to  pass  was  more  than  either 


310  LIGHT  0y    THE  MORNING. 

girl  could  possibly  conjecture;  but  they  both  felt  that  it 
was  the  final  crown  of  their  happiness. 

"  Can  I  ever  forget,"  said  Nora,  "  that  but  for  Stephan- 
otie  lending  us  that  money  I  should  not  have  been  able 
to  run  away  to  Ireland,  and  my  dear,  dearest  father  might 
not  now  have  been  alive?  " 

But  the  sound  of  wheels  was  at  last  heard  without. 

"  Come,  girleens,  and  let's  give  them  a  proper  Irish  wel- 
come/' said  the  Squire,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  old 
house. 

Nora  ran  to  him,  and  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

"  Now  then,  Nora,  as  the  carriage  comes  up,  you  help 
me  with  the  big  Irish  cheer.  Hip,  hip,  hurrah !  and  Caed 
Mille  a  Faitha.  Now  then,  let  every  one  who  has  got  a 
drop  of  Irish  blood  in  him  or  her  raise  the  old  cheer." 

Poor  gentle  English  Mrs.  Hartrick  turned  quite  pale 
when  she  heard  these  sounds ;  but  Air.  Hartrick  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  understand  his  Irish  relatives ;  and  as 
to  Stephanotie,  she  sprang  from  the  carriage,  rushed  up 
the  steps,  and  thrust  a  huge  box  of  bon-bons  into  Squire 
O'Shanaghgan's  face. 

"  I  am  an  American  girl,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  guess  that, 
whether  one  is  Irish  or  American,  one  likes  a  right-down 
good  sweetheart.  Have  a  bon-bon,  Squire  O'Shan- 
aghgan,  for  I  guess  that  you  are  the  man  to  enjoy  it." 

"  Why  then,  my  girl,  I'd  like  one  very  much,"  said  the 
Squire ;  "  but  don't  bother  me  for  a  bit,  for  I  have  to 
speak  to  my  English  relatives." 

"  Oh,  come  along  in,  Stephanotie,  do,"  said  Molly.  "  I 
see  that  you  are  just  as  eccentric  and  as  great  a  darling  as 
ever." 

"  I  guess  I'm  not  likely  to  change,"  answered  Stephan- 
otie. "  I  was  born  with  a  love  of  bon-bons,  and  I'll  keep 
it  to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 


"IMA   HAPPY  MAN!"  311 

But  now  Mrs.  Hartrick  and  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan  had 
met.  The  two  English  ladies  immediately  began  to  un- 
derstand each  other.  Mrs.  O'Shanaghgan,  without  a 
word,  slipped  her  hand  inside  her  sister-in-law's  arm,  and 
they  walked  slowly  across  the  magnificent  hall  and  up 
the  wide  stairs  to  the  palatial  bedroom  got  ready  for  the 
traveler. 

Then  the  fun  and  excitement  downstairs  became  fast 
and  furious.  The  Squire  clapped  his  brother-in-law, 
George  Hartrick,  on  the  shoulder ;  the  Squire  laughed ; 
the  Squire  very  nearly  hallooed.  Terence  looked  round 
him  in  undisguised  amazement. 

"  I  would  not  have  known  the  old  place,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  Nora. 

Nora  gave  a  quick  sigh. 

"  Where  is  my  mother?  "  said  the  lad  then. 

"  She  has  gone  upstairs  with  Aunt  Grace ;  but  run  after 
her,  Terry,  do,"  said  his  sister. 

Terence  gave  another  glance  round,  in  which  pride  for 
the  home  where  he  was  born  kindled  once  more  in  his 
dark  eyes.  He  then  rushed  up  the  stairs  three  steps  at  a 
time. 

"  Why,  then,"  said  the  Squire,  "  it's  cramped  and  both- 
ered I  am  in  these  clothes.  What  possesses  people  to 
make  Merry-andrews  of  themselves  night  after  night 
beats  my  comprehension.  In  my  old  velveteen  jacket 
and  knee-breeches  I  am  a  man — in  this  tomfoolery  I  do 
not  feel  as  good  as  my  own  footman." 

"  You  look  very  well  in  your  dinner  dress  all  the  same, 
O'Shanaghgan,"  said  Mr.  Hartrick.  And  he  added, 
glancing  from  Nora  to  her  father,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
quite  recovered." 

"  Ah !  it's  she  has  done  it,"  said  the  Squire,  drawing 
Nora  forward  and  pressing  her  close  to  his  heart.    "  She's 


312  LIGHT  0'    THE  MORNING. 

a  little  witch.  She  has  done  fine  things  for  me,  and  I  am 
a  happy  man  to-night.  Yes,  I  will  own  to  it  now,  I'm  a 
happy  man;  and  perhaps  there  are  more  things  in  the 
world  than  we  Irish  people  know  of.  Since  I  have  my 
barn  to  sleep  in  I  can  bear  the  house,  and  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you,  George — much  obliged  to  you.  But,  all 
the  same,  it's  downright  I'd  have  hated  you,  when  you 
altered  this  old  place  past  knowing,  had  it  not  been  for 
my  little  girl,  Light  o'  the  Morning,  as  I  call  her." 


THE    END. 


Three  Strong  Stories  for  Boys 


Ralph  of  the  Roundhouse; 

Or,  Bound  to  Become  a  Railroad  Man 
By  Allen  Chapman 

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Rival  Ocean  Divers; 

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the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  search  for  the  sunken  treasure  is  made 
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Lost  in  the  Land  of  Ice; 

Or,  Daring  Adventures  Around  the  South  Pole 
By  Captain  Ralph  Bone  hill 

An  expedition  is  fitted  out  by  a  rich  young  man  who  loves 
the  ocean,  and  with  him  goes  the  hero  of  the  tale,  a  lad  who 
has  some  knowledge  of  a  treasure  ship  said  to  be  cast  away  in 
the  land  of  ice.  On  the  way  the  expedition  is  stopped  by  enemies, 
and  the  heroes  land  among  the  wild  Indians  of  Patagonia.  When 
the  ship  approaches  the  South  Pole  it  is  caught  in  a  huge  iceberg, 
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NEW  STORIES  FOR.  GIRLS 

By  Mrs.  L.   T.  Meade 

iamo.  cloch,  stamped  in  colors  and  gold.     Each  volume  nnel? 
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The  Girls  of  Mrs.  Pritchard's  School 

Ten  full-page  illustrations  by  Lewis  Baumer 

This  story,  as  are  all  Mrs.  Meade's,  is  an  attractive  one,  full  of 
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A  Madcap 

Eight  full-page  illustrations  by  Harold  Copping 
A  story  which  tells  of  a  young  Spanish  girl  who  inherits  some 
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Her  trials,  troubles,  and  difficulties  are  vividly  described,  and, 
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The  Manor  School 

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A  Bevy  of  Girls 

Handsomely  illustrated 
A  powerful  tale  that  all  girls  from  ten  to  eighteen  will  enjoy 
The  characters  are  taken  from  actual  life,  and  many  incidents 
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The  Defense  of  the  Castle 

By  Tudor  Jenks 

This  is  a  good  fighting  story,  but  not  bloodthirsty.  It  tells 
of  a  boy  and  girl  who,  during  the  absence  of  their  father  at  the 
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The  Secret  of  the  Everglades 

A  Story  of  Adventure  in  Florida 
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The  supposed  killing  of  the  father  of  Millicent  Osney,  the 
heroine  of  this  capital  story  for  girls,  rouses  her  from  a  state 
of  dreamy  idleness  into  an  active  participation  in  the  struggle 
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Some  Strong  Stories  for  Boys 


Redskins  and  Colonists; 

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Under  the  Star-Spangled  Banner 

By  Captain  F.  S.  Br  e  ret  on 

A  vivid  and  accurate  account  of  the  Spanish-American  War. 
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At  the  period  of  the  Boer  War  the  hero  and  a  friend  are  over- 
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A  Story  of  the  Confederate  Cruiter  "Alabama" 
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